


heroes get remembered (legends never die)

by awkwardspiritanimals



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Demigod!AU, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 66,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardspiritanimals/pseuds/awkwardspiritanimals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Leopold Fitz is fourteen, he finds out that he and his best friend are the children of immortal Greek gods, and that the Fates have plans for him.</p>
<p>Things progress accordingly from there.</p>
<p>(a Percy Jackson-style demigod!au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. miles to go before i sleep

The June after he turns thirteen, Leopold Fitz leaves his mother a note with an apology and a poor explanation and runs away. He just hopes the monsters follow him.

A few weeks later in London, he meets Jemma Simmons at knife point.

He’s running from a dog the size of a car, and he ducks into an alleyway to find a knife at his throat. In one of those moments he has every so often, where his reflexes leave his brain in the dust and save his life, his hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around a thin wrist. It belongs, Fitz finds when he can finally take his eyes off the knife itself, to a girl about his age, smaller than him, looking up at him with big brown eyes. There’s an identical knife in her other hand.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” she says, lowering the knife point as much as she can, and Fitz releases her wrist, taking a step back to be out of range, “I thought you were a mons-” she cuts herself off, sounding embarrassed, but his eyes shoot up from the twin knives in her hands to her face.

“You can see them too?” he asks in disbelief, and her eyes widen. Fitz assumes it’s because of what he’s said, but then he hears the growling behind him, spins just in time to see the enormous dog he’d been trying to escape leap towards him.

He does the only thing he can think of; he lets his fist burst into flame, swings it toward the monster’s open mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the girl rush at the dog, knives up, sink them deep into its side as his arm connects with its face. It disintegrates into a cloud of dust with a yelp, and Fitz watches the remains of the monster settle before turning back to the girl, who is staring at him with wide eyes. It takes him a few moments to realize that it’s probably because his right  hand is still burning; he shakes it out, and she immediately steps forward, grabbing his hand and pulling it up towards her face to examine it.

“There’s no damage,” she says, and Fitz rubs at the back of his neck with the hand she’s not holding.

“Um, no. I’m sort of, um, fireproof.”

The girl pushes up the sleeves of his shirt, “And there’s no outside ignition source. You’re pyrokinetic? You can start fires with your mind?” she continues, at Fitz’s blank look.

“Um, I like to think of it as starting them with my hands, but I guess so. If that’s what, um-”

“Pyrokinetic.”

“Yeah, if that’s what that word means.”

The girl studies him for a few seconds more before smiling and holding out her hand, “I’ve never met anyone else who can see the monsters.”

“Oh,” says Fitz, shaking her extended hand. He hasn’t either, except maybe his mum.

“Jemma Simmons,” she says, dropping his hand and studying the pile of dust that had, just a minute ago, been the giant dog that was chasing him.

“Fitz.” She looks up from her search with raised eyebrows. “Er, Leopold Fitz.”

“Nice to meet you, Fitz,” Jemma says, pulling something out of the monster dust, “I think these are probably for us. Spoils of war, or something like that.” She holds up what looks to be two of the dog’s teeth, suspended from identical leather strings; Fitz has seen monsters leave parts behind before, but nothing quite like this. Jemma slips one over her head before offering him the other with an expectant look. He fumbles it on as she makes her way to the end of the alley they’re in, glancing first one way, than the other, before turning back to him.

“Aren’t you coming?” Jemma asks, eyebrows raised once again, and Fitz, half curious and half overwhelmed, follows her out of the alley and along the sidewalk. Jemma keeps glancing back at him over her shoulder, like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear. After the fourth time she does it, he moves up to walk next to her, earning a smile he nervously returns.

They end up at an apartment building, and Fitz tenses when she opens the door to one on the third floor, but all that’s revealed is a large room, clean, empty except for a small pile of blankets on the floor by the far wall and a reading lamp sitting next to it. For the first time since she’d nearly stabbed him, Jemma looks nervous.

“This is where I’ve been staying for the past few weeks. It’s clean, and there’s a shower, and hardly anyone ever stops by, and even when they do, they never do more than just peek inside the doorway and then leave, so we can just hide in one of the other rooms.”

“It’s, um, nice.” She grins at that.

“So you’ll stay?”

“Well, I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” Her face falls slightly, and he scrambles to reassure her, although he’s not entirely sure why. “And I’d, uh, like to. I’ve never met anyone else who can see the monsters either.”

Her smile returns in full force, and she pulls him over to divide the pile of blankets in two. Fitz is still slightly worried that it could be a trick of some kind, but he’s mostly just glad to have some place to stay out of the elements, since he’d really had no plan beyond putting as much distance between himself and the monsters and his mum as he could manage. Plus, for some reason, Jemma Simmons seems to want him around, and with the exception of his mum, not many people have ever seemed to really want that. It seems worth a shot.

—————

The ease with which they fit into each others lives should probably startle them both much more than it does. But Fitz has felt out of place his whole life, like he didn’t quite belong, and from what Jemma tells him about her own life prior to running away, he isn’t the only one, so maybe it makes sense that they get along so well.

Talking about his mum and his life before he came to London eases some of his homesickness, and Jemma seems to feel the same. He’s surprised when she reveals that she, like him, is dyslexic; one of the few things in what he can’t help but think of as  their apartment aside from the piles of blankets they usually sleep on is a stack of books, well-thumbed through volumes on biology and chemistry, as well as a slim book of Greek myths, which initially puzzles him.

"What kind of knife names are Sophia and Allie anyway?” Fitz asks one night, about a week after they’d met in the alleyway. He’s studying one of her knives, which she’d insisted on giving him when she’d realized he didn’t have a weapon of his own besides his flames.

"Well, that’s really _Aletheia_ ,” she says, pointing at the knife in his hands. He has no idea how she tells them apart, since they look identical to him. “It’s an ancient Greek word meaning truth. And _Sophia_ ,” Jemma gestured to the knife she had kept, “is the ancient Greek word for wisdom. Wisdom and Truth.”

“Huh. Why Greek names?”

She shrugs, “Well, most of the monsters that I’ve fought are similar to monsters found in Greek mythology. And, I don’t know, it seemed right. I found them in my book, when I was doing research on the monsters.”

“Huh,” Fitz repeats, then, “How come I got truth and you got to keep wisdom?”

Jemma rolls her eyes, which is something he’s beginning to notice she does a lot around him, “Because you don’t have any wisdom.”

He sticks his tongue out at her before settling back into his blankets and closing his eyes. They try to spend as little time in the apartment as possible, leaving as soon as they wake up in the morning and only returning as the sun sets, not wanting to bring monsters to their doorstep, and it can be exhausting at times. Some days they just wander the neighborhood by their building, and others, usually days when it’s simply too hot to be outside or they’re tired of walking around, they go to one of the near-by libraries.

It’s far from a normal situation, and they get plenty of strange looks, but it works for the two of them.

———————

“Fitz?” Jemma says one night, and he hums in acknowledgement without turning over or lifting his head from where he’s face planted into his pile of blankets. It’s been about a month and a half since they’d met, and they had been running short on the money they had both brought with them when they’d arrived in London, so Fitz had made some that morning doing tricks for tourists with his fire, juggling it, striking matches on his arms, holding items and keeping them from burning; it makes them a fair amount, which is good, since it seems to attract monsters at a faster rate than normal and he doesn’t like to do it more often than necessary. Fitz and Jemma had faced three today alone, and it was exhausting.

“When did you figure out you could, well… with the fire and everything?”

He rolls over to stare at the ceiling, “My seventh birthday. I got excited while I was opening my presents and my fingers started to smoke,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “It was the only time I can ever remember my mum mentioning my dad when I was growing up. Said it must be his doing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Never did understand what she meant by that.”

“Well, maybe your powers are genetic. Maybe your father’s some kind of superhero or-”

“My father is a jerk who abandoned my mum and me before I was even old enough to remember him,” says Fitz, voice harsher than he means it to be, and Jemma, excited at the prospect of possibly figuring something out about their situation just a moment before, sinks back down into her pile of blankets. He sighs, “Sorry. Why do you ask about my pyrokinesis?” he asks, knowing she likes when he uses the word she taught him when they first met, and wanting to talk about anything but his father.

“No reason,” she responds, but even without seeing her he can tell she’s lying, and they sit in silence for a few minutes before Jemma speaks again, voice soft, “It’s just that I can’t do anything like that. And I thought that maybe, because you can see the monsters too, we might be the same, but-”

“We are the same,” Fitz says, and he’s a little surprised at the force and confidence behind his statement, “We are. I don’t know what we are, but we’re the same. I know we are.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jemma reaches across the space between them to grab his hand. Neither of them let go until the next morning.

——————

It’s Fitz’s birthday, and they’ve spent the last three days at the library, so it’s fairly easy to convince Jemma to spend the warm August day wandering the alleys and side streets near their apartment, especially since soon it will start to be too cold to spend many days outside at all. He doesn’t mind spending time at the library, especially since it makes Jemma happy; there, he usually settles down with a book featuring lots of engineering diagrams and pictures, but he much prefers this, because it means he can pick up scrap metal to work with, put his fidgety hands to good use.

He’s digging through a promising pile when he spots it, and he can’t believe he ever missed it in the first place. It’s clearly a sword hilt sticking out of the top of the pile, and Fitz glances at Jemma before giving it a few firm tugs. On the third, it comes loose with a rather incredible sound and he’s holding a full length sword in his hand, the same bronze as Jemma’s knives.

It’s in pretty bad shape, scrapes and dull patches down the whole length, nicks in both sides of the blade; one of them is deep enough that a spike of metal is almost entirely separate from the main body of the sword, a gash more than a nick. But it feels right in Fitz’s hand in a way that Jemma’s knives never have, balanced and solid, despite the damage. Jemma is quick, and she moves easily, fluidly with one or both of the knives in her hands, but they’ve always felt too short to him.

He hands Allie back to Jemma without a word, and she smiles at him, “It’s like a birthday present from the universe. You’ll need a name for it.”

Fitz rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he steps down from the pile, sword in hand, to stand next to her, “Something Greek, yeah?”

“I’ll look in my book to see if I can find something appropriate.”

—————-

“Fitz?” says Jemma, and he looks up from his work on the sword, eyebrows raised. He’s been working on it for about a month and a half now, and he’s managed to smooth over some of the rough patches and smaller nicks; it’s still rough and it always will be, but it’s gotten a lot better, especially in the last week, when they’ve been cooped up in the apartment as the weather grows colder. They’ve been running the heater, but as low and as little as they can bear, trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves. He doesn’t know what they’re going to do as the temperature continues to drop, but they’ll need to do something.

“It’s just that, well, I’ve been having these dreams,” she starts and he nods, turning back to work on his sword. They’ve discussed a few times the dreams they both have, the ones that seem more real than normal dreams, like they’re trying to tell him something. “I think we need to go to America.”

“What?” Fitz says, looking up in shock, “America? As in the United States of? As in the country an entire ocean away from here?” Jemma nods and Fitz gapes.

“I know it’s crazy, but I’ve been having the same dream for a week now. There’s a flight number, and a gate, and there’s this voice. I swear it’s familiar, but I don’t know why, and it’s saying that they need us.”

“Who is they? The voice?”

Jemma shakes her head, “No, the voice is just the messenger. Or, well, they’re only part of it, if they themselves need us. There’s someone else. A group of people, or several groups.”

“And they need us?” Jemma nods, “Why?” she shrugs, and Fitz runs a hand through his hair, “This is nuts, Jem.”

“I know,” she sighs, “I wouldn’t have said anything, but it’s been going on for a week, and I don’t think it’s going to stop until we do something.”

“What can we do? We don’t have enough money for plane tickets, and even if we did, I don’t think they’re just going to let two kids get onto a plane, especially not two kids with weapons.”

“I know!” Jemma says again, pushing herself to her feet to pace across the apartment, “It’s insane. But we have to go somewhere, and we don’t have anywhere else to go, unless we want to just go home. And we’ve walked around a good part of London and nobody has ever said anything about our weapons, or found out that we were living here.”

“What’s your point?”

“Sometimes, the monsters, before they attack us, they look normal, right? Like people or animals? And haven’t you wondered what keeps other people from seeing them? I think whatever it is, it keeps people from seeing us properly too, or at least our weapons. Maybe if we hide our weapons as best we can, whatever it is will help us.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem of how we’d pay for the tickets, or how we’d get them to let us on the plane with no parents and no ID.”

Jemma sits down in front of him with a sigh, “It’s crazy. It is. But I think- well, I won’t go without you.”

Fitz rubs at the back of his neck. He believes everything he’s saying, that what she’s suggesting is crazy, but he also knows that he’s pretty sure he’d follow Jemma Simmons just about anywhere she asked him to, and that thought only terrifies him a little bit.

“We’ll need a plan,” he says, and Jemma smiles, leaning across his lap, careful of the sword, to wrap her arms tightly around his shoulders.

——————

They don’t end up with a very good plan, but it’s not really a situation that allows for a good plan. They’ve both got a backpack and gym bag, filled with all the clothes they own and the blankets they’d been sleeping on. Jemma has her stack of books and Fitz has a collection of his gadgets that he couldn’t bear to leave behind; he knows they probably won’t make it through security, but being forced to give them up seems somehow better than just choosing to do so. His sword is at the very bottom of his gym bag, where it barely fits lengthwise, and Jemma’s knives are hidden in her backpack.

Fitz keeps waiting for someone to spot them and ask them what they’re doing as they wander through the airport, looking for the gate that Jemma had seen in her dreams. He’s not sure how they’re planning on actually getting on the plane, since they don’t have enough money to buy one plane ticket, let alone two, or anything else they would need to buy them, even if they had the money. Eventually, they end up loitering outside the gate until the final boarding call is made and Jemma takes a deep breath, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward to stand in front of the woman taking tickets.

“Can I help you?” she asks, and Jemma’s courage fails her or maybe she just thinks that speaking would cause more problems than it would solve, leaving her standing silently, her hand still wrapped around Fitz’s, “Do you kids have tickets? Are you parents here?” The woman is beginning to look at them suspiciously, and they’re about to be in trouble, considerable trouble, and Fitz can’t believe he let Jemma talk him into this and-

“There you two are!” says a voice behind them, and they both turn to see a tall blonde woman walking towards them. Her hair is swept up and she’s got dark glasses on, and overall she gives off a feeling of elegance and power, but Fitz has never seen her in his life. She gives three tickets and a dazzling smile to the woman behind the podium.

“Have a nice flight, ma’am,” the woman responds, and then the tall woman places a hand each on Jemma and Fitz’s shoulders, guiding them towards the gate. They’re both too stunned to say anything until they’re on the plane; the woman, who still hasn’t actually spoken to them, guides them to two empty seats, and then turns to leave before Jemma manages to speak.

“Thank you,” she stutters, and the woman turns, studying Jemma over the top of her glasses with grey eyes for a few seconds before she smiles.

“You’re welcome. And good luck.”

“You’re not, uh, sitting with us?” asks Jemma, while Fitz wonders why she would feel the need to wish them good luck.

The woman laughs, settling her glasses back into place, “Oh, darling. I don’t fly coach.” She gives them one last smile and then disappears up towards first class. Fitz stows their bags in the overhead, wondering how, among a hundred other things, they were able to walk onto the plane with two fairly large bags each, and then settles down next to Jemma, who is still staring at where the woman had walked away.

“Something wrong?” he asks, and Jemma shakes her head.

“No. It’s just… there was something familiar about that woman.”

“You know her?”

Another shake of her head, “I’ve never met her before, but she still seemed familiar, somehow.”

Fitz shrugs, and eventually Jemma relaxes, rests her head against his shoulder. He can feel her sigh of relief as the plane takes off. They’d made it.

The past few days have been exhausting, trying to get ready to leave, and Fitz is starting to doze when Jemma speaks again, “I figured out a name for your sword.”

“Yeah?” he asks, glancing up towards where their bags, and the sword, are stashed. He feels exposed without it, and let’s the hand farthest from Jemma heat up to reassure himself that he’s not defenseless. Fitz isn’t sure how they’d exactly fight a monster on a plane, but crazier things have happened in his life.

“ _Pyrrhos_. It means _flame-like_ in Ancient Greek. I thought, because of your powers and everything, and it sort of looks like a flame, with the nicks and all.”

“Pyrrhos,” he says, trying it out, and he smiles when Jemma looks up at him, biting her lip, “I like it. Pyrrhos and Aletheia and Sophia.”

She just smiles at him, pushing up slightly to kiss his cheek before settling back against his shoulder. He lets his head fall back against the seat and closes his eyes with a sigh. It’s a long flight.

——————-

They end up in Atlanta, Georgia, and Fitz is looking around for an idea on what to do next when he hears Jemma gasp from beside him; glancing over, he watches in amazement as she pulls two small, banded stacks of money from her bag before turning to him with wide eyes.

“Where did this come from?” she asks, and Fitz shrugs, “Did- Do you think that woman put it in there?”

“Why would she give us money? I mean, there has to be almost a thousand American dollars here.”

“Why would she buy us plane tickets? And make sure we got on the plane? Why would she do any of this?” Jemma asks, and Fitz can tell that something about the woman had unsettled her. He takes one of the piles from her, running his thumb across the edge, catching a slip of paper wedged between the bills. There’s an address written on it, which Fitz assumes is close, although all he can really tell is that it’s in the state of Georgia. He shows it to Jemma, who sighs.

“I suppose we should check it out.”

They get a taxi and end up at the edge of the city, right before it turns into sprawling suburbs. The address is an apartment building, sharing a block with a large gas station, what looks like some sort of outdoor supply store and a few other non-descript buildings. Jemma insists that they pay the cab driver with their own money instead of the crisp bills she’d found in her backpack, and then they lug their bags to the front entrance.

“Is there an apartment number?” Jemma asks, not sounding very enthusiastic.

Fitz nods, as a man, trailed by two children, holds the door open for them, “Top floor, I think, if I’m counting right.”

Jemma is silent on the elevator ride up and the trip down the hall to the corner apartment, and when Fitz pushes open the unlocked door, she drops her bags to the ground with another sigh; Fitz does the same, glancing around the barren room.

“You think this belongs to her?” he asks.

“Doesn’t really seem like Ms. ‘I don’t fly coach’s’ style.”

“Well, I guess it’s as good a place to stay as any. We can’t exactly get a hotel room, even if we could afford it, and it’s not like we’re inexperienced at squatting.”

“I suppose,” Jemma says, moving to peer into the other rooms. Fitz knows she’s not upset with him; there’s nothing Jemma hates more than not knowing the answer to something, and now she’s got more questions than ever when she thought she was finally about to get some answers. He unearths his sword from his gym bag and digs her knives out of her backpack while he waits for her to finish her inspection of the apartment; when she finally turns back to him, he holds them out as a sort of peace offering, and she smiles softly at him.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve been… Well, I thought that…”

“I know. But we have to be closer than we were before, right? If whoever it was in your dreams wanted us to come here, we must be getting closer to figuring things out. To getting answers. Right now though, I think we should get some food. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“That’s not true. Sometimes I’m asleep.”

Jemma just shakes her head.

——————

The first few months aren’t too bad, but in the middle of January, the cold drops on them like a bomb, and their apartment doesn’t have any heat outside of what manages to leak in from the rest of the building. Fitz can hear Jemma shivering next to him, and see her breath blooming white above her, even nestled in her pile of blankets.

“Jemma, come here,” he says, because he knows he runs warmer than she does and he has an idea, “Bring your blankets.”

She hesitates, and Fitz just lifts his own blankets in invitation. Three white puffs of breath later, Jemma crawls over to him, dragging her blankets. She curls up next to him, and Fitz tugs her set of blankets over them before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut. He concentrates on letting his skin heat up as much as he can manage without actually catching fire or burning Jemma.

“Fitz, you can’t sleep like that,” Jemma says, but she curls closer to his warmth and he smiles.

“I’ll just produce some heat and then let the blankets keep it in. Then I can get some sleep.”

“Good,” she mumbles sleepily, and then tilts her chin up to look at him, “Have you had any dreams since we got here? Like I had before we left London?”

Fitz shakes his head, concentrating on maintaining his temperature, and Jemma sighs, tucking her head in against his neck. He waits until her breathing evens out before he lets the heat drop off and falls asleep himself.

His dreams that night are disjointed: a campfire with a small figure sitting next to it, a mansion in flames, a huge man wearing golden armor, fire running down his arms, a glittering expanse of dark water and the smell of strawberries, the golden man again, this time screaming in anger and frustration, tugging at something hidden by darkness. Fitz jolts awake, heart racing. He can feel Jemma shivering next to him, forces himself to take a deep breath and concentrate on over-warming his skin again, pulling her closer to him.

The next night, Jemma crawls into Fitz’s pile of blankets without prompting, even though it’s not nearly as cold as the night before. When he raises his eyebrows at her, she shrugs.

“You’re warm.”

——————-

It’s warm enough now that they can spend more time away from their apartment, which is probably good, since they’d been starting to go a little stir crazy from being cooped up most of the winter. While there are more monsters in Atlanta than there had been in London, they also seem less able to sense Fitz and Jemma, and they don’t appear to like the apartment building at all.

Jemma hasn’t had any dreams since they’d arrived in the States, but Fitz has been having the same disjointed dreams for a few months now, since that first cold January night. They’re not sure what any of the images mean, which is making it hard for them to decide what to do next, since it’s becoming obvious that Georgia is not their final destination.

There’s a diner a block from their apartment building, and they go there for lunch or dinner a few times a week. No one ever comments on the fact that the two of them always eat alone, or how often they come in; there’s a school fairly nearby, and it seems that everyone just assumes they go there.

The restaurant is crowded today, and Fitz and Jemma end up sitting at the counter next to a woman wearing a pink dress that looks more suited to a formal party than the diner. Fitz can feel her watching them as they order, and she keeps casting significant glances between him and Jemma and smiling softly, knowingly; he tries not to fidget too much, glancing towards Jemma to see if she’s noticed the woman, which just seems to make her smile more.

“Interesting accents. You two aren’t from around here?” she asks, smiling at them.

“No,” Fitz answers, as Jemma shakes her head. She’s an awful liar, and while Fitz isn’t much better, she usually lets him do the talking when it’s necessary.

“Where are your parents? Surely you’re not so far away from home without any supervision.”

“They’re still out in the car, trying to figure out where we’re going next. Family vacation,” Fitz says, trying not to shift nervously. The woman’s plate is clean, and he hopes that she’ll leave soon enough that it won’t be suspicious that the parents waiting in the car that he’s just fabricated haven’t come in.

“How nice. Well, if your parents need any suggestions, I hear New York is excellent this time of year,” the woman says, paying for her meal before standing, casting one last significant look between Fitz and Jemma with a smile, “Have a nice day.”

Fitz waits until the door closes behind her to turn to Jemma. “Well that was strange,” he says, as the waitress drops off their food.

She’s still watching the door as she nods. “Was there something- Did she seem familiar to you?”

Fitz considers her question while he chews on the first bite of his sandwich, turning to look at the door. “Now that you mention it, she kind of- well, she reminded me of the woman from the airport, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jemma says, turning back to her food finally. They eat in silence for a while before she turns to him, “Fitz?”

“Hmm,” he hums, stealing a few fries off her plate.

“How do you feel about New York?”

—————

They decide that a train is their best option; they don’t think they can get lucky enough to get on a plane again, and while getting on a train is still tricky, it’s certainly easier than trying to make it through airport security. Jemma’s not happy about it, but they finally have to dip into the money that she’d found in her bag when they’d first arrived in Atlanta. Fitz isn’t quite sure why she dislikes the idea of it so much, but he trusts her and they’ve never needed it until now.

The man at the ticket office gives them a strange look when two kids pay for their tickets in cash, but he makes the sale anyway. They wait nervously for their train to be called, and pick seats as far back in the car as they can manage. Jemma clutches their tickets nervously, her foot bouncing, and Fitz takes her free hand, squeezing reassuringly as the car begins to fill up. She smiles at him and squeezes back as the guy checking tickets reaches their row.

He raises his eyebrows as he looks over their tickets, “You kids traveling alone?”

“Yeah,” Fitz says, slipping into the American accent he’d first practiced watching American television with his mother and has made much better in the past months, “Our parents travel a lot, and we’re going to stay the summer with our grandparents.”

The man smiles, looking over their tickets, “Have a nice trip, and a nice summer.”

Jemma visibly relaxes when he turns his back, her head dropping to Fitz’s shoulder. He smiles, taking the tickets from her hand to slip into his backpack for safekeeping as the train starts moving.

“Fitz?” she asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah?” he asks, sleepily. He hadn’t been as openly nervous as Jemma had, but he’d been plenty anxious in his own right, and now he just wants to sleep for a while. It’s a long train ride to Newark, their final destination.

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” She turns her head to look at him.

“Yeah. You said we should go to New York, and I agreed with you.”

“But does that mean we’re doing the right thing?”

“It means we’re doing the best we can. Together.”

“Together,” she says, with a smile, reaching up a hand to tuck the leather string holding the hellhound tooth back into his collar before tracing the outline of her own necklace under her t-shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want to just start with Fitz and Jemma at Camp Half-Blood, and I wanted to demonstrate within the actual structure of the story, and not just by saying it in later parts, that for a long time, all either of them really had to depend on was each other. The action will pick up and answers will be had in later parts, starting, in fact, with part 2, where Camp Half-Blood and the rest of the team show up, and the plot really starts, beyond the tiny glimpses that we’ve seen here.
> 
> You guys are going to make fun of me for being a big, dumb, heavy-handed sap when you find/figure out who the woman in the diner was, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, mostly because I am a big, heavy-handed sap.
> 
> Why Atlanta, GA? Two reasons: It’s somewhere relatively warm, in comparison to the rest of the US, that they could go for the winter while remaining on the East Coast, and the Atlanta airport has for a decade been the busiest airport in the US in takeoffs and landings, and in terms of passenger volume for nearly two. Getting on a random plane going to the US, you have a slightly higher chance of going to Atlanta than anywhere else (I think that’s how that math would work. I’m very tired and very not good at math). There is an actual train which goes from Atlanta to Newark; it’s called the Crescent line, and two adult tickets (which 14-year-old Fitz and Jemma would purchase) costs about $340.
> 
> The story title comes from a quote from the movie 'The Sandlot,' and while this particular part doesn’t have a title (at the moment, at least), some of the future chapters will. The summary of this fic, as well as the relationship and character tags, will probably grow or change as the fic progresses, but I've listed the most important ones for now. I've currently got it set at five parts, but that could change. It won't be shorter than five parts, but it might be longer, and I figured added parts was better than taking them away.


	2. home doesn't have an address

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are flames at his fingertips and blood in his mouth; it’s sticking to the back of his teeth, and he spits to try and clear the taste.

There are flames at his fingertips and blood in his mouth; it’s sticking to the back of his teeth, and he spits to try and clear the taste. Whatever monster they’d encountered in the dark had gotten one good swipe at his face before Jemma had managed to get one of her knives into it and it had dissolved into dust. Fitz supposes he’s just glad it didn’t seem to have claws.

Jemma, curled warmly against his side, stirs, and he extinguishes the fire in his hand.

“Fitz? Is it my watch yet?” she asks, her words slurring, and he smiles. It’s three minutes until he said he’d wake her for the second watch, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“No, Jemma. Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“You promised you’d wake me up. You need to sleep, too. How’s your jaw?” She reaches gentle fingers up to probe the dark bruise on the left side of his face. Fitz winces, using the arm not curled around her to catch her hand and tug it away, holding onto it as he settles back.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Promise you’ll wake me up when it’s my watch.”

“I promise, Jemma.”

It’s an hour and a half before he gets too tired to keep his eyes open and reluctantly shakes her awake; she scolds him for not waking her earlier, but he just smiles and closes his eyes, one hand around the grip of his sword and the other wrapped around her smaller one.

—————

“Is that your mum?” Jemma asks, and Fitz nods, turning away from his sketching, drawn by the smell of food.

“How’d you know?” he says as she settles next to him, handing him a warm burrito type thing and a bottle of water.

“She looks like you,” Jemma says, settling down with her own dinner.

They’re outside of a small town on Long Island, which was where Jemma, based on Fitz’s dream of the big expanse of water and the smell of strawberries, had decided they were supposed to go. Fitz isn’t quite so sure they should be relying on his fragmented dreams, and he tries not to think too much about the fact that he’d followed Jemma’s dreams across an ocean but is so unsure of his own.

“You miss her.” It’s not a question, but Fitz nods anyway. “I miss my parents too,” she adds, and he nods again. They lapse into silence for a few minutes before Jemma speaks again. “Why’d you run away? I mean, it’s just that I’ve heard you talk about your mum, and it doesn’t seem like you were unhappy.”

Fitz took a long drink from his bottle of water before he says, “I think she can see the monsters. She’s not… she’s not like us, but she always seemed more aware of the monsters than other people. They never bothered her, but…”

“You were afraid they might.”

“I thought if I wasn’t there anymore, they wouldn’t have any interest in her. I figured they would just follow me and leave her alone.” He stares down at his lunch to keep Jemma from seeing how glassy his eyes are.

“That’s a better reason for leaving than I had.”

“Yeah?”

“I just… I love my parents, I do, and even though they couldn’t see the monsters, I did want to protect them. But I always thought- I thought there had to be something more. There had to be some reason I could see the monsters, and I wasn’t going to find the answers in Sheffield.”

“That’s not a bad reason for leaving,” he says, and Jemma looks up.“Sounds like you. Wanting to know something that badly, that you’re willing to make that kind of sacrifice.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not a bad reason for leaving.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Jemma blushes, rolls her eyes, “Eat your burrito.”

—————-

They decide their best option is to walk around the town, rather than just cutting through. Even trying their best to look presentable, their travels have left them fairly ragged, plus they’ve got their bags with them; it just seems easier to avoid being seen altogether than to take their chances and have someone in town call the police. It’s down in a bit of a valley, and Fitz and Jemma walk along the extended ridge of hills around it, which alternate between wooded areas and open clearings.

Fitz has felt strange all morning, and Jemma keeps insisting they stop to rest; he turns to tell her he’s fine as they enter a clearing, but freezes before he can say anything. In front of them, engulfed in flames, is the mansion from his dreams. He gapes, his hand dropping to his sword without his notice.

“Is that-?” Jemma asks, and Fitz nods, “What do you think it mea-?” she starts to ask, but she’s cut off by a shout for help from inside the huge building. Fitz drops his bags and pulls his sword out of his belt, taking a few steps forward before he even realizes what he’s doing. He hasn’t been scared of fire in a long time, but something about this one is making his hand shake around the grip of his sword.

“Fitz!” Jemma calls, and he turns back. She bites at her bottom lip, “Just be careful, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding as another shout comes from the mansion, and he takes off running towards the building.

There’s a side door in a part of the house that’s not yet on fire, and Fitz is glad that it’s unlocked. Once inside, he yells out, trying to figure out where the calls for help are coming from, rubbing his eyes against the heat, which is unsettling; Fitz can’t remember the last time heat from a fire bothered him.

“I’m upstairs! I’m up-” calls the voice, close enough now that Fitz can clearly tell it’s a girl. He takes the stairs two at a time, sword held out in front of him as he reaches a long hallway full of flames. The shouting is coming from behind the second door on the right, broken up by long spells of coughing, and he rushes forward, grabbing for the handle before recoiling with a gasp. His hand stings, like the time he’d swung clean through a monster and whacked his sword against a light post, the bronze vibrating all the way through to the handle.

That’s never happened before, and Fitz stares down at his hand in shock before the girl’s shouts jolt him back into awareness. Wrapping his hand as firmly around the grip of his sword as he can manage, he brings the pommel down against the door handle, which splinters off, the apparently old wood giving much easier than he’d anticipated.

“Watch out!” he calls, and listens as closely as he can for a shuffling that indicates the girl has backed up before kicking the door as hard as he can. It swings inward, revealing a girl about Fitz’s age, maybe a little younger, covered in ash and clutching a backpack.

“Come on!” he shouts, and she stares at the sword in his hand for a few seconds, but follows him out into the hall, where their path is blocked by flames. Fitz hears the girl curse behind him, and he reaches back, grabbing for her hand. “Do you trust me?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the growing fire.

“No.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Screwing his eyes shut to concentrate, he runs full speed through the flames, tugging the girl behind him. A sharp pain immediately blooms between his eyes, and he has to gasp for breath, but they both burst out of the flames, stumbling down the grand staircase of the mansion and to the side door Fitz had come in.

Once they’re outside, Fitz lets go of the girl’s hand, sprinting across the clearing towards Jemma; he feels bad about it, but he can hear her footsteps behind him still, and he needs to put as much distance between himself and the burning mansion as he can, as quickly as possible. Jemma catches his arms as he stumbles towards her, head pounding, trying to force air into his lungs, and it’s the only reason he manages to stay upright. The girl stands next to them, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath.

“You ran through fire,” she gasps out, and Fitz nods, “ _I_ ran through fire.”

“You’re welcome,” he manages, before looking up at Jemma, “We have to go. We need to- There’s something wrong with that fire. We need to go.”

“Catch your breath first, Fitz,” she says, but he shakes his head as emphatically as he can manage.

“There’s something… bad about it. We have to go _now_.”

“A monster started it,” says the girl, having regained her breath, and Jemma and Fitz both turn to stare at her, “At least, I’m pretty sure it was a monster. It’s head was on fire, and it walked funny, and it was talking to someone I couldn’t see, calling them _my lord_.”

Jemma’s the first to recover from the shock, shouldering Fitz’s backpack as he continues to try to catch his breath, glancing back over his shoulder at the huge house in flames, a shiver running down his spine at the sight.

“Can you carry Fitz’s bag?” she asks the girl, who nods and grabs the gym bag off the ground.

“You want me to come with you?” Jemma nods. “Why?”

“You can see the monsters. We’ve got to stick together,” she says, grabbing Fitz’s hand and tugging him back towards the trees they’d initially emerged from. It takes him a few seconds to get his feet under him to follow her at a run, the other girl next to him.

———————

Her name is Skye, and she’d run away from her foster family a few weeks before; she’d only had problems with the monsters for a few months, but Fitz gets the distinct impression that that didn’t really have a lot to do with her choice to run away. He can hear Jemma and Skye talking, but he’s studying his hands, passing a small flame from finger to finger, letting it grow and dim as it moves. Fitz doesn’t realize how long he’s been zoned out until Jemma pokes his shoulder a few times.

“Sorry,” he says, closing his fist to extinguish the fire and turning to her.

“Time for bed, I think,” she says, nodding at Skye, who has already curled up under a blanket.

“It’s my night for first watch,” he says, turning to make sure his sword is within easy reach, but Jemma shakes her head.

“Not after how you looked earlier today. Besides, I think running into a burning building to save someone qualifies you for a little sleep.”

“Jemma-” he starts, but she just stares at him until he reluctantly stretches out next to her with a sigh. “I really am fine. I don’t know what happened at that house. It just felt… wrong.”

“That’s why we’re being cautious,” Jemma says, and Fitz admits defeat, tugging the blanket up over himself.

For the first time in months, his dreams are different. The campfire and the dark expanse of water are still there, and the first glimpse of the man in the golden armor, but the house is gone, and the second time the golden man appears, he’s not screaming but laughing, a dark, rough sound that sends a feeling of dread down Fitz’s spine, not unlike the one produced by the sight of the mansion that morning.

He wakes up with a gasp, Jemma shaking his shoulder, and rolls over with a groan.

“Sorry. You were shivering pretty badly,” she says before yawning hugely. Fitz glances at his watch and groans again.

“You were supposed to wake me up two hours ago.”

“You can’t possibly be about to lecture me for that,” Jemma says, curling up against his side, her head on his shoulder.

“Why not?”

“Because you do it at least twice a week,” she replies, and he can feel her smiling against his t-shirt when he stays silent. “What do you think of Skye? Can we keep her?”

“She’s not a pet, Jemma,” he says, and she pokes him hard in the stomach.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s like you said, about the monsters and needing to stick together. Now go to sleep,” he says, but she’s already drifted off before he can finish the sentence.

—————

“You three certainly aren’t easy to find, are you?” says a voice from next to their table, and Fitz looks up from his food in time to see the guy who had spoken slide into their booth next to Skye. He’s four or five years older than them, wearing a faded orange t-shirt that does nothing to hide the muscular roundness of his shoulders and a dark knitted beanie, and as the three of them stare at him, he seems to take quite a while to arrange his legs how he wants them.

Skye is the first one to get over her surprise. “Mike?” she asks, and the guy laughs.

“I told them you would remember me!”

“You know him?” Fitz asks, as their waitress returns to the table with her notepad.

“Can I get an order of fries on a styrofoam plate and a can of Coke?” Mike says, and the waitress nods, walking away as he turns to them, “Skye and I went to the same school for about four months a few years ago.”

“What are you doing here?” Skye asks, as the waitress drops off Mike’s order.

“Well, somebody had to come get the three of you eventually, make sure you get to camp in one piece. I’m Mike Peterson, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Camp?” Jemma asks, and Mike nods.

“Yeah. It’s a safe place, somewhere you guys can finally get some answers. Can’t tell you much more than that yet. You guys, especially you two,” he points at Jemma and Fitz, “are already monster magnets. I haven’t seen anything quite like it since Thor, and he was a Big Three kid. Either of you able to summon lightning or tidal waves at will?” he asks, laughing, and Jemma glances at Fitz, who busies himself picking at the remains of his food. Mike, still talking, doesn’t seem to notice the exchange.

“You guys have done a pretty good job, especially since you don’t have any real idea where you’re going, but you probably wouldn’t have been able to just stumble into it. I hadn’t gotten away from camp in way too long, and since I already knew Skye, I figured I was as good a choice as any to come make sure you got there in one piece,” he explains, finishing off his fries and standing. It seems to take him a few moments to get his balance, and then he drops a few bills on the table and grabs the styrofoam plate and his empty Coke can. “You guys coming?” he asks, and Skye nods quickly, slipping out of the booth. Fitz waits silently for Jemma to nod before following.

Skye leads the way to the small group of trees where they’d left their gym bags, not wanting to attract more attention in the small diner than necessary. Mike walks with a noticeable limp, and when they reach the clearing, he collapses onto a boulder with a sigh of relief, kicking off his shoes. Fitz assumes he has some sort of bad foot problem, and he turns away to give the guy some privacy, but he’s drawn back by Jemma’s gasp. He realizes pretty quickly that it can’t be a foot problem, since Mike’s legs pretty clearly end in a set of cloven hoofs, and his ankles are _furry._

“You mind giving a guy a little privacy?” he asks, when he sees them staring at him, and the three of them spin around.

“What the hell?” FItz whispers, looking at the other two.

“That’s better. I don’t know how humans deal with wearing pants all the time,” Mike says, and Fitz turns back to see him stuffing the jeans he’d been wearing into his backpack.

“You’re a satyr!” says Jemma, pointing at the furry goat legs that Mike has exposed. Fitz vaguely remembers reading about satyrs in her book of Greek myths.

“Of course. You think they’d send just anybody to get you three?” he asks with a smile, lifting his hat to reveal the small horns poking out of his short hair, “Now come on. It’s not too far, but we’re walking, and I’d like to make a little distance before it gets dark.” He sets off out of the clearing, taking bites of the Coke can he’d taken from the diner, Skye walking beside him. Fitz goes to follow, but Jemma grabs his hand and tugs him to a stop.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just- Well, I think we can trust him, and Skye obviously does, but with what he said, about- Maybe you should be careful with your pyrokinesis, just until we know more about him.”

Fitz nods, “That makes sense. Might be good to have a secret weapon, if it turns out it’s a trap.”

“I’ll say something to Skye when I get the chance. Now come on,” she says, tugging on his hand, “He says there’s answers wherever he’s taking us.”

—————

Mike freezes, and Fitz’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword. A few minutes ago, the satyr had been telling them that they were within a mile of camp, his excitement clear in his voice; now he’s standing stock-still, glancing around.

“What?” asks Jemma, her knife already in hand.

“Probably nothing. Area around camp always smells like monsters. Just be careful, alright?” he says, and Fitz pulls his sword out of his belt.

They continue forward, with a notable urgency that’s tinged with anxiousness now instead of excitement. Mike stops again, and curses under his breath in a language that Fitz somehow recognizes as Greek. A few seconds later, he becomes aware of a screeching sound behind him, and turns to see a black cloud of _something_ descending towards them, shrieking.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, we’re fifty feet from the tree!” Mike yells, and then a black hyena type thing with wings is hurtling towards Fitz. He slices at it, sheering off one of its wings, and it goes spinning off course.

“What are they?” he asks, sorely regretting his decision to keep his pyrokinesis a secret from Mike. He’s not awful with Pyrrhos, but he misses the added insurance of a handful of flames.

“Gryphons!” Jemma yells back, not seeming at all handicapped by the fact that she’s down a knife. He watches her turn two of the monsters to dust before his attention is drawn by the one-winged gryphon circling back towards him. Fitz gets the other wing this time, and it disintegrates.

They’d initially been attacked by a crowd of fifteen or so, and there’s eleven now; Fitz assumes Skye had gotten one, to go along with his one and Jemma’s pair, although she looks as awkward with the borrowed knife as he ever had. The remaining ones seem to be smarter than the four that are now piles of dust, regrouping and surveying the four of them before diving again. Fitz is able to fend off the four who attack him with a long sweep of his sword, but Jemma, with the shorter reach of her knife, has to stab three times in quick succession, while Skye just ducks. The monsters regroup again, and Jemma steps close enough that her shoulder presses against his.

“Can we make a run for it?” she asks, looking at Mike over her shoulder, who shakes his head.

“They’re dumb, but fast, and if they grab one of us, we’ve got no way to take them down if they get away. Fifty feet! We can see the tree!” he moans, and Fitz, trying to keep one eye trained on the gryphons, glances back towards what he assumes Mike is talking about, a huge pine tree at the top of the hill to their backs.

The group of monsters dive again, and Fitz manages to catch one across the neck with the jagged spike of metal on one side of his sword, more luck than anything else. He’s just about to relax slightly, prepare for the next attack, when he hears Mike cry out behind him. One of the gryphons had lagged behind the rest, slipping through as Fitz and Jemma tried to deal with the crowd, and it has one taloned foot around Mike’s shoulder, lifting him up even as the satyr struggles and twists.

“Mike!” Skye yells, lunging forward with her knife, but the gryphon is already out of her reach.

“Fitz, you can hit it,” Jemma says, and it takes him a second to realize she’s talking about his fire. He’s never attempted to control a lance of flame as long as the one he’ll need to have a shot at the flying monster, but they’re pretty much out of other options. His hand is just about to catch when the gryphon holding Mike gives a particularly loud shriek, and Fitz can see what looks like an arrow sticking out of its side. It circles lower and another arrow appears briefly before the monster disintegrates and Mike drops, hitting the ground with a roll.

Looking up to figure out where the arrows had originated from, Fitz is surprised the see four kids in jeans and orange t-shirts like Mike’s running down from the direction of the pine tree, one of them holding a bow and the others with various other weapons. Most of the gryphons split off toward the new threat, and it becomes clear that this is a mistake pretty quickly; the speed with which the four of them dispatch the pack is scary. Of the two that stay with their original target, Jemma gets one and Skye, seeming intent on revenge for Mike’s attempted kidnapping, takes out the other one before rushing over to help the satyr up.

“You were so close, man,” says the guy with the bow, shouldering it to pull Mike to his feet.

“Fifty yards! We can see the tree, Trip!” Mike yells, and then hisses as the other guy prods at his shoulder, where his shirt is torn and stained with blood.

“I think you’ll be alright. Talons don’t look like they dug in too bad.”

“Not as worried about my shoulder as I am about getting those three inside the border before anything else decides to come after us. I still smell monsters,” Mike says, nodding his head at Fitz, Jemma and Skye. Trip laughs.

“That’s just Ward,” he says, and the tallest of the four kids, holding a long spear, rolls his eyes before turning to head back up the hill. The other two follow them, and Mike indicates for Fitz and the girls to go next, with him and Trip bringing up the rear.

Fitz doesn’t understand what’s so special about the pine tree. It’s massive, but other than that it looks pretty much like any other pine tree he’s ever seen. The three kids, who all look older than him, stop next to the tree, and Fitz and the others stop too, though he can practically feel Jemma vibrating with anticipation, to let Mike limp up behind them.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, go ahead and step over the border,” he says, rolling his eyes. The older kids step forward past the tree, and Fitz follows, then freezes in his tracks. Spread out below him is a huge valley, dotted with buildings, Long Island Sound in the distance.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood,” Mike says, and Fitz can tell he’s enjoying the looks of astonishment on their faces, “Come on. I bet Chiron and Mr. D are at the Big House. They’ll explain things.”

Kids in orange t-shirts watch as they pass, and Fitz, used to making every effort to go undetected, feels incredibly exposed. They’re headed toward a large, sky-blue building with a wrap around porch, which he assumes is the ‘Big House’ that Mike had mentioned. Waiting for them at the railing are a sullen looking man in a tiger print shirt and a centaur. Fitz has seen some pretty unbelievable things in his life, especially in the last year, but that still brings him up short.

“Nice to see you back in mostly one piece, Mike,” the centaur says, and Mike laughs.

“Brought you some new campers, Chiron. Jemma, Fitz, Skye. Couple of them came a long way to be here,” he says, and the centaur’s focus shifts towards Jemma and Fitz.

“Yes. Well, I hardly think the usual orientation film will suffice here, Mr. D,” Chiron says after studying them for what seems like a long time to Fitz, turning to the dark haired man next to him.

“Indeed,” he says, taking a drink of his Diet Coke, and Fitz hears some scoff behind him.

“‘Indeed?’ That’s all you’ve got to say? Those two are wearing hellhound teeth!” the tall boy with the spear says, pointing at Fitz and Jemma. Fitz glances down and realizes that during the fight with the gryphons, his necklace had come loose from his shirt; blushing, he tucks it back under his collar, watching Jemma do the same next to him.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Warren. Having been alive for millenia and having personally dealt with hellhounds, which, I will remind you, you have not, I’m incredibly thankful for your help.”

Ward, or Warren, or whatever his name is, ducks his head, fiddling with his spear. Chiron clears his throat.

“Ward, Trip, why don’t you see that Mike gets patched up properly, and then I’m sure your cabins would appreciate your help with their chores. Coulson, May, you’ll stay and take these three down to the cabins when we’ve finished?” he says, and the small group breaks up, Mike waving over his shoulder at them as he walks off with two of the guys. The two oldest looking people in the group, the boy with the big bronze shield and the girl with the sword, lean against the railing of the porch as Fitz, Jemma and Skye follow Chiron and Mr. D around the corner of the house to a collection of lawn chairs. The centaur stays standing while the rest of them take seats, the kids on the opposite side of a table covered in playing cards from Mr. D, who is still drinking his Diet Coke and regarding them coolly.

“I suppose I should formally welcome you to Camp Half-Blood,” he says after a few moments, and then he seems content to let Chiron take over.

“Tell me, how much do you know about the Greek gods, and the associated myths?” he asks, and Fitz glances at Jemma, who speaks up.

“I’ve got a book. Fitz and I have read it.”

Mr. D scoffs, “Oh, she has a book. Excellent.”

Chiron ignores him. “Good. That may make certain things easier for you to accept.”

"Like what?"

“Well, you know about the monsters. I can only assume that you’ve faced a great many of them in your journey here, and I don’t think that you would deny that they’re very real. And just as the monsters are real, so are the gods from those stories you’ve read.”

“You’re saying that the Greek gods are real? Like Zeus and Hera and all those?” Skye asks, and Chiron nods, “But weren’t they just stories to explain like, the seasons and whatever?”

“Whether people believe in them or not, immortal means immortal, Skye. The gods have been around for millenia, moving with the heart of the West. They’ve been in the US for about two hundred years now.”

“And what does that have to do with us?”

“A great deal. As I’m sure your friends can tell you, one of the most common occurrences in the old myths is the gods falling in love with mortals and having children. They haven’t changed their habits much, and you three, and the rest of the campers here, are proof of that.”

It takes Fitz a few seconds to understand exactly what Chiron is saying, and he hears Jemma gasp next to him when it dawns on her at almost the same moment. With his powers and everything, he supposes that he always knew that the explanation for it all would be something supernatural, but he never could have guessed the actual answer, not in a million years.

His dad is a _god_. Fitz wonders if he’s about to be smited for all the rude things he’s thought about him in his life.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Some things will just take time, but I’d be happy to answer any you may have over the next few days, or beyond, and I’m sure Coulson and some of the other older campers will make themselves available as well. Speaking of, I’m sure you’re all tired and curious about the camp, so I’ll let him and May take you down to the cabins to leave your bags, and then show you around if you want,” Chiron says, and he gestures for them to follow him back around the porch.

May is nowhere to be seen, but Coulson is still leaning against the railing where they left him. He’s frowning down towards the collection of buildings that Fitz assumes are the cabins Chiron had mentioned, but he brightens when he sees them, standing and swinging his shield across his back.

“May had to go check on something in her cabin,” he explains at Chiron’s questioning look, but he won’t meet his eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you can handle taking these three down to cabin eleven and getting them settled in by yourself,” Chiron says, and Coulson nods. The centaur smiles at the three new campers before disappearing around the corner of the house once again.

“Alright, follow me, you three. I’m Coulson,” the older boy says, turning to lead them towards the group of cabins.

“Just Coulson?” asks Skye, and he laughs.

“Phil Coulson, but everyone just calls me Coulson. Disney’s _Hercules_ kind of ruined the name Phil for demigods. That’s what we’re called by the way, if Chiron didn’t tell you. Sometimes he forgets to bring the new kids up to speed on some of the vocabulary. And don’t worry if Dionysus never learns your name properly. Ward’s been here as long as anybody, and he still can’t get his name right. Nobody really knows if he actually doesn’t bother to learn our names or if he’s just doing it to mess with us.”

“Dionysus? As in-”

“The wine god? Yeah. He’s stuck here supervising camp as a punishment from Zeus, something to do with a wood nymph,” Coulson explains, and Fitz isn’t really sure how to respond to that.

“Your father is Hermes?” asks Jemma, pointing at Coulson’s shield, which Fitz can now see has a design painted on the bronze, two snakes twisted around a staff, which he vaguely recognizes from Jemma’s book as a symbol of Hermes.

“Yeah. Shield was a gift from dad. You’ll be bunking with me and my siblings until you’re claimed, since Hermes is the god of travelers. All the newbies spend at least a little time in cabin eleven.”

“Claimed?”

“Your godly parent will give some sort of sign that you’re their kid. That’s when you move out of Hermes’ cabin and into your parent’s.”

“And how long does that usually take?” Jemma asks, and Fitz smiles. Presented with the opportunity to finally get some answers, Jemma Simmons is taking full advantage.

“Used to be that some kids could go unclaimed for months, even years, but the Avengers- you’ll learn about them pretty soon, I’m sure- put their foot down a while back after some serious stuff went down and the gods got better about claiming their kids. I bet you’ll all be out of cabin eleven by the end of the week. Speaking of,” Coulson says. They’ve reached the group of cabins, and he pushes open the door of the first one on the right side of the horseshoe shaped group of twelve cabins, closest to the straight line of slightly smaller cabins, revealing two long rows of bunks. There are a few kids lounging around on their beds, all of whom jump to their feet looking guilty when Coulson walks in.

“Don’t you all have chores you could be doing? You want us to get stuck on stable duty again?” Coulson asks, and the kids groan but dutifully file out, glancing at Skye, Fitz and Jemma as they leave, “There’s three empty bunks at the back you guys can take. Drop your stuff off, and then I’ll give you a tour of camp before dinner.”

—————-

Fitz is exhausted, and he can’t fall asleep.

He’s probably as comfortable as he’s been in a long time. He can’t remember the last time he was totally free of worry about monsters like he is here, and he’s sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in almost a year. He’d had more food at dinner than he’d had since they’d left Georgia, even if it had been a little strange to scrape some of his food into the fire as a sacrifice to the gods, and disconcerting to have so many people watching him as he ate. Word seemed to have spread pretty quickly through the camp about the new arrivals, and campers in orange shirts had stared at them all through Coulson’s tour of the camp and dinner. The Hermes kids at least seemed to be used to new people in their cabin, and so Fitz and the girls had finally been able to escape from the attention when dinner had ended.

He shifts in his bed, trying to get comfortable, and then the mattress dips slightly as he feels Jemma slip under his blanket and curl up against his side. He’s pretty sure Coulson sees this from his bed across the cabin’s center aisle, but he doesn’t say anything, and Fitz lets out a sigh of relief as he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

“Sorry. Couldn’t sleep,” she says, and Fitz smiles.

“‘S fine. Me neither.”

He’s finally comfortable, and he’s starting to really drift off before Jemma whispers his name.

“Yeah?”

“I have two mortal parents,” she says, and Fitz blinks, trying to wake himself up.

“What?”

“I mean, Skye has no idea about her mortal parent, and you’ve just got your mum, but I’ve got my mum and my dad.”

It takes him a second to figure out what she’s saying. “Oh. I don’t know, Jem.”

“Does this mean that one of my parents cheated on the other, and I’ve got to wait until some Greek god or goddesses sees fit to claim me to find out which? But I’ve seen photos of my mum when she was pregnant with me, and I look like my dad, right?” Fitz nods. Jemma has a few pictures of her parents in her backpack, and she’s got her dad’s smile and his eyes. He pulls her closer and drops his nose down against her hair with a yawn.

“I don’t know, Jem,” he repeats, “But this is where we can finally get answers, right? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. We made it.”

“Yeah. We did,” she answers after a few moments.

“Night, Jemma.”

“Good night, Fitz,” she says, and he waits for her breathing to even out before drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fic is going to be much longer than I anticipated, I think. Originally, we were supposed to get all the way to the reveal of the prophecy, but I couldn’t even get them claimed. So there’s that.
> 
> 'The Big Three' that Mike refers to is Zeus, Poseidon and Hades. There will be an in-universe explanation for Thalia's tree, since Thalia's not in this story. Spoiler: It involves Peggy Carter. I don't think there's much else about this chapter that needs to be explained in notes, but if you have questions, as always, feel free to ask me!
> 
> Quick note on part 1, since I saw multiple comments about this: The woman from the diner and the woman from the airport are different women. Reading it over, that probably wasn’t as clear as I originally thought it was. Again, you guys will make fun of me when you figure out/find out who the woman from the diner is.
> 
> Part 3 (which will hopefully be up in about a half hour) will see Fitz, Jemma and Skye being claimed. Updates will usually be about ten days apart (hopefully) but because I didn’t want to leave you guys hanging on them being claimed but I didn’t want this chapter to be outrageously long, I went ahead and wrote both.


	3. you are more than your father's son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go get Chiron,” Coulson instructs, once he turns back around and sees the symbol.

“Using your shield as a weapon is a lost art,” Coulson says, and Fitz and the other campers groan. He’s been here for four days and he’s already heard the speech twice. He can’t imagine how many times the Hermes kids have heard it.

“We can’t all be Steve Rogers,” calls someone from the back, and Coulson rolls his eyes.

“I don’t believe I implied that _any_ of you could be Steve Rogers. Only that using your shield as a weapon is a lost art, which should receive more recognition than it does.” This produces another round of groans. Coulson is the only person in camp that Fitz has seen who uses his shield as a primary weapon; he has a sword, but he hardly ever wears it, much less uses it.

Fitz glances down at his own shield, which isn’t nearly as large as Coulson’s; the cabin leader had taken him, Jemma and Skye down to the armory their first morning at camp and gotten them fitted out. Jemma, with her dual knives, hadn’t been given a shield, and Fitz is kind of jealous. He still hasn’t told anyone at camp about his pyrokinesis, but he doesn’t like not having a free hand when he fights.

Jemma pokes him in the side, and he realizes he’s zoned out of the lesson. Coulson has abandoned his huge bronze shield, reluctantly, Fitz assumes, and borrowed a sword and shield from someone in the front, pulling Skye up to demonstrate something. He does something with his shield that Fitz can’t figure out, even in slow motion, and Skye’s sword goes skittering across the dirt. There’s a scattering of applause from the gathered campers as she goes to retrieve it, and then repositions herself so they can spar full speed.

Coulson knocks her sword away twice more, but the third time, she ducks under his swinging shield and sweeps her own shield against his legs. The older boy tumbles, landing hard on his back. He sits up with a groan, but he’s smiling, brushing himself off as he stands.

“That was great, Skye! See, what was I telling you guys,” Coulson says as he turns toward the audience, but no one is watching him. They’re all staring at Skye, specifically the glowing pink shape that’s appeared about a foot over her head. “Go get Chiron,” Coulson instructs, once he turns back around and sees the symbol. Someone from the back of the crowd takes off running towards the archery range, and Fitz moves to stand next to Skye, with Jemma doing the same on her other side.

Chiron gallops in, followed by a group of campers, which Fitz assumes is his archery class. Mike comes trotting up a few seconds later, smiling. Standing closer to Skye, Fitz can see that the pink shape is a bird of some kind.

The crowd parts to let the centaur through, and a couple of girls from his class follow him to the front. Chiron is smiling now, and Fitz relaxes slightly, figuring it can’t be anything too bad, since pretty much everyone seems pretty happy.

“Hail, Skye. Daughter of Aphrodite,” Chiron says. The crowd that’s gathered applauds, and the girls that had followed Chiron rush towards Skye. Fitz vaguely recognizes them as being from the Aphrodite cabin, and he realizes with a start that that means they’re Skye’s sisters. She glances over her shoulder at Fitz and Jemma with a small smile, but the two girls, talking extremely fast and tugging on her arms, pull her away before she can say anything.

———————

“You know, I never got a chance to really thank you for saving my life,” Skye says from behind him, and Fitz turns away from his work. Because of the spike on the one side of Pyrrhos, it won’t really work with any of the scabbards in the armory, so he’s taken it upon himself to make one. Chiron and Coulson had both told him that anyone was allowed to use the forge, whether they’d been claimed or not, and Fitz had jumped at the chance to get his hands on some proper tools.

“You’re welcome,” he says, and then squints, “Did you do something different with your hair, or something?”

Skye rolls her eyes, “Apparently, a makeover is pretty much a right of passage in the Aphrodite cabin. I’m lucky I managed to talk them down to only this much.”

“Oh,” Fitz says, since he doesn’t really know enough about hair or clothes or anything of the sort to make an informed comment. “How is it, you know, being claimed?”

She shrugs, “It’s okay, I guess. My siblings are nice, and it’s nice to finally have some answers about at least one of my parents. Uh, Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“If you want to keep the whole ‘fireproof’ thing a secret, you might want to, you know,” she says, pointing, and he realizes he’s holding onto the red hot metal of the scabbard with his bare hands.

“Oh, right,” he says, setting the piece down on the anvil he’d been working on. The forge is deserted at the moment, but he should probably be more careful.

“Why are you keeping it a secret anyway? I mean, that’s like a super power. The only people at camp I’ve seen that can do anything even close to that are the Demeter kids.”

Fitz shrugs, “I guess I’ve just kept it a secret for so long that it’s hard to just tell everyone. I mean, before I rescued you, the only people in the whole world who knew were my mum and Jemma.”

It’s more complicated than that, really, but he’s not sure how to put it into words. Part of him keeps hoping that someone in camp will suddenly display the same powers, and another part is wondering if his godly parent will claim him without him showing off his pyrokinesis. Mostly though, he’s not sure how you’re supposed to tell a camp full of people that you’re fireproof and can start fires by thinking about it, even if those people are the half-mortal children of Greek gods.

“Well, however they react when you finally decide to tell everyone, I’m on your side. And not just because you saved my life.”

Fitz shrugs, fiddling with the cooling scabbard, “Anyone would have done it.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true. And anyway, they wouldn’t have been able to do the whole ‘pulling me through raging flames bit,’ even if they had come in after me. So thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll stop bothering you now, so you can get back to work on your sword thing.”

“Scabbard. I’ve got to put a gap in one side because-”

“Fitz?”

"Yeah?"

“You saved my life, and I would totally like, ride into battle with you, but please don’t make me stand here and listen to you talk about your sword thing. I’ll go get Jemma to do it for me, if you want.”

“Bye, Skye.”

——————

Fitz is sitting alone at dinner, picking at his food. It’s been three days since Skye was claimed, and she’s been sitting at the Aphrodite table since, leaving Fitz and Jemma sitting at the small table next to the main Hermes one, except that Jemma hasn’t shown up yet tonight. Coulson had offered to let him sit at the Hermes table proper, which was already a little crowded, but Fitz had declined. For all he knows, the Hermes kids really are his siblings, and they’re nice enough, if prone to mischief, but he doesn’t really fit in with them. Not that he fits in with any of the other cabins, as far as he can tell; there’s been absolutely no sign from his godly parent as to who they might be.

After a few minutes, he gives up on his food and sets off in search of Jemma; it’s strange to eat by himself, surrounded by tables full of kids. When he reaches the Hermes cabin, and peers in, he’s surprised to see Jemma sitting on his bed, surrounded by books and in tears. She doesn’t appear to even notice he’s walked in until he crouches down beside the bed.

“Jem? Jemma, what’s wrong?” he asks, not sure what to do.

“I can read them,” she says, laughing a little, and Fitz looks at her in confusion before glancing around at the stacks of books around her. To his surprise, the titles don’t swim off the covers like they usually do. They’re not in English, but after staring at them for a few seconds, he can read them too.

“They’re in Ancient Greek,” Jemma explains.

“I don’t know Ancient Greek.”

“Apparently you do. We all do. It’s what causes our dyslexia. Our brains are hardwired for Ancient Greek, which is what all these books are written in. I can read them,” she says, rubbing her eyes, but she’s smiling, “Some of them are very old, but a lot of them are translations of newer books. Biology, chemistry, fiction, there’s a couple of engineering textbooks for you.”

Fitz smiles at her excitement. Jemma’s always dealt with her dyslexia better than he has, or at least she’s always been better at hiding her frustration, but he knows it bothers her. It’s nice to see her this happy.

“Who gave you the books?” he asks, looking through some of the stacks.

“May, from Demeter. Said she thought I might like them, explained about the Ancient Greek and the dyslexia.”

“And you’ve been sitting here reading for what, two hours now?” Jemma blushes, and Fitz laughs, “Come on, you’ve got to be hungry.”

He helps her stack the books neatly under her bed, and then they head towards the dining pavillion. It’s fairly unusual for people to arrive this late to dinner, so Fitz assumes that’s why people are staring at them.

“But she doesn’t even look like us,” says one of the guys at the Athena table, and Fitz turns to look at him in confusion, only to find the whole table, and the rest of the campers, staring back at him and Jemma, with a few notable exceptions; Skye, Coulson and May are all glaring at the Athena kid who’d spoken. He turns back to ask Jemma if she knows what’s going on, and that’s when he sees the glowing silver symbol above her head. It’s a bird, like Skye’s had been, but it’s pretty clearly an owl, not Aphrodite’s dove.

“Hail, Jemma Simmons, daughter of Athena,” Chiron says from where he’s risen behind the main table, and there’s a smattering of applause from the gathered campers.

Fitz doesn’t know what to say. His best friend has just been claimed, and she’s staring at him, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to say.

“I suppose, um,” he tries, “I suppose you’ll need someone to help you move all your books.”

She eats with him at the unclaimed table and nobody says anything, and then they head back to the Hermes cabin. It doesn’t take long to move her stuff, since she hasn’t had much of a chance to unpack in the week they’ve been at camp. They make a few trips to move her new books over, and then there’s just her backpack left, which Jemma assures him she can handle on her own. He still doesn’t know what to say. This will be the first night in nearly a year that they haven’t slept in the same place.

“I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow morning,” she says, and Fitz nods.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, you’ll be at the Athena table and I’ll still be over by Hermes, but yeah.” He can’t bear to call himself unclaimed, not right now.

“Right,” Jemma says, likes that’s only just dawning on her now, “Well, good night, Fitz.”

“Night,” he replies, and then they stand there for a few moments before Jemma steps in close enough to give him a hug. Fitz hugs her back, trying not to hold on too tightly, and then with one last smile, she disappears towards her new cabin and he turns back to Hermes.

He stares at the door for a long time, but he can’t bring himself to go in. Eventually, he turns and sets off across camp, with no real idea where he’s going. Walking out in the open wearing a bright orange t-shirt, he’s not really making any effort to hide, since he doesn’t really care that much about getting caught out after curfew. He doesn’t stop until he realizes he’s reached the strawberry fields.

Overwhelmed for a second by the now familiar smell from his dreams, Fitz sits down among the vines, staring out over Long Island Sound. Mike had explained that there was magic surrounding the camp that kept the weather nice within the borders, and he wonders if it also keeps out light pollution; he’s never seen so many stars before. Jemma’s book has a couple pages on constellations, and he tries to pick them out, realizing that all the stories behind them are probably true, which is kind of a strange idea to try to wrap his head around.

He lays back to get a better view, and doesn’t really notice he’s drifting off until he wakes up to someone draping a blanket over his legs. Fitz sits up to see May standing by his feet.

“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he starts, but she just shrugs.

“If the harpies don’t care, I certainly don’t. Just don’t crush too many of the plants. My siblings will freak out.”

“Right. Uh, thanks,” he says, indicating the blanket. She’s giving him a strange look, and it’s slightly unsettling until he remembers that she’d just found him sleeping in the strawberry fields.

“No problem. See you at breakfast tomorrow,” she replies, and then disappears back towards camp. He almost follows her, but he still can’t bring himself to think about sleeping in the Hermes cabin, and it’s not like he’s not used to sleeping outside. Tugging the blanket up to his chin, he rolls over, careful of the strawberry plants, and goes back to sleep.

—————

Jemma’s sitting at the unclaimed table the next morning. Fitz had slept surprisingly well, all things considered, or he would think he was seeing things. He takes his seat across from her after scrapping some of his eggs into the fire.

“Jem?”

“Morning,” she says, looking up at him with a smile.

“You’re still sitting here.”

She rolls her eyes, like what he’s saying is ridiculous, “Of course I am. I’m not going to leave my best friend sitting here alone.”

“It’s fine,” he says, swallowing past the lump that’s formed in his throat. Fitz looks over toward the Athena table, where none of her siblings seem all that bothered by the fact that Jemma isn’t sitting by them. He can see what the guy last night had meant when he said that Jemma doesn’t look like them; they’ve all got blond hair and grey eyes, which Jemma doesn’t. She’s carefully avoiding looking that way, and it’s becoming clearer to him why she might not want to sit at that table.

“Jemma, are they being- I mean, are your siblings-?”

“Fitz, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! If they’re saying-”

“Fitz,” she says sharply, cutting him off, “It’s fine, okay? I like sitting with you.” She doesn’t really sound all that fine, but Fitz lets the subject drop.

At dinner that night, Skye and Trip from Apollo, the guy who’d shot down the gryphon who had tried to grab Mike the day they’d shown up at camp, sit with them, and the next morning at breakfast, May sits next to him, not saying anything but glaring over at the Athena table the entire time she eats. Coulson slides over from the Hermes table about halfway through, saying he needs to tell Fitz something about their schedule that day, but pulling his food along with him and staying until Chiron dismisses everyone.

After a few days, Fitz realizes that, for all the difficulties she’s clearly having fitting into her new cabin, Jemma really is sitting at the unclaimed table to make sure he’s not sitting alone, and what’s more, she’s recruiting the others to her cause. He’s thankful, but he can’t help feeling like a charity case. It wasn’t so bad when Skye and Jemma were with him, but unclaimed is starting to feel like a dark cloud hanging over his head that the whole camp can see, and there’s still been no sign at all from his godly parent.

——————-

“You really have been sleeping out here,” Jemma says, and Fitz sits up, blushing.

“Er, yeah, for about three weeks now.”

“Since I got claimed,” she says, sitting down next to him.

He nods, “Who told you?”

“Skye.”

“How did she know?”

Jemma shrugs, “Her siblings, probably. Trip says that if you really want to know what’s going on at camp, you talk to the Aphrodite cabin.”

“Oh,” Fitz says. He hadn’t realized that anyone besides May and Coulson knew he was no longer sleeping in the Hermes cabin.

“How come you’re out here?” she asks, and he shrugs.

“Don’t really belong in the Hermes cabin. It’s nice out here, with the strawberries and the view and everything. Got kind of tired of the Hermes kids looking at me like I have some sort of deadly disease that they can’t catch but are still kind of frightened of.”

“Fitz, Coulson said you were free to stay in the Hermes cabin as long as you needed.”

“Yeah, well, he also thought I’d only be there for a week. Besides, he didn’t kick me out, I left.”

“Your father _will_ claim you, Fitz,” Jemma says, and he sighs, staring at the ground instead of looking at her.

“It’s been a month, Jemma. Maybe I’m just here because of some fluke. Maybe I’m not even a demigod.”

“No,” she says, and Fitz turns to her, surprised at the force behind the word, “Remember in London, that night I asked you about your pyrokinesis, and you told me that you were sure we were the same? Well, now I’m sure. You’re a demigod, just as much as me or Skye or anyone else here. And if your father won’t claim you, it’s his loss, not yours.”

“Jemma, he’s a god. He probably doesn’t even care about one ki-”

“Then that’s his loss. You’re amazing, Fitz, and it’s got nothing to do with your powers or anything else. It’s just you. If he doesn’t want to claim you as his son, he’s missing out.”

Fitz is quiet for a moment before he speaks up, “I could say the same thing about your siblings.”

It’s Jemma turned to be silent for a while, before she turns to him with a smile, “Yes, well, we’ve got each other, right? We’ll just wait for the rest of them to catch up,” she says, and Fitz can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah. I guess,” he says. Jemma yawns, and Fitz glances at his watch, “You should probably head back.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, “So you’re the only one allowed to sleep in the strawberry fields?”

“I, uh, I guess not?”

“Good. Scoot over.” She crawls under his blanket with him, and Fitz lies back so she can get comfortable, her head on his shoulder. He’s already more comfortable than he has been in weeks.

“Just don’t roll over on any of the strawberries. May says her siblings will be upset,” he whispers, and Jemma nods.

“She already warned me.”

“She did?”

“Yes, when she told me where you were.”

“And she just assumed that you would stay up here with me?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anyone left in camp who doesn’t know I’ve been sleeping up here, or who didn’t feel the need to tell you about it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s good to know then. That people are just going to-”

“Go to sleep, Fitz.”

—————-

The camp bonfires are Fitz’s favorite. They have them a couple of times a week, and they’re one of the few times at camp where being unclaimed doesn’t seem to be such a noticeable thing. Everyone sits with mixed in with everyone else, rather than keeping with their cabins, and so Fitz doesn’t feel like the whole camp is staring at him because his Olympian parent still hasn’t acknowledged his existence.

He’s sitting at the back of the group gathered in the amphitheater with Jemma and Skye, who is quizzing Mike and Trip, one row below them, about Grant Ward from Ares, the guy with the spear who’d been with the patrol that had found them fighting the gryphons. Fitz honestly doesn’t understand her interest in Ward, who as far as he can tell spends most of the limited time he’s not doing chores or practicing in the arena with his spear glaring broodily at anyone who happens across his path.

Trip shrugs at most of Skye’s questions, “Listen, what I know is that he showed up to camp when he was seven or eight, which is pretty young for a demigod, got claimed pretty quickly, and then John Garrett, who is now the head of Ares, took him under his wing, because he had also shown up at camp when he was really young.”

“Spear was a gift from his dad,” Mike adds, “He’s one of the best fighters in camp, and one of the best spearsmen that the camp’s ever seen, according to Chiron, who has seen a lot of spear fighters. Has gone on a couple quests, nothing spectacular. Keeps to himself mostly. Will probably become the head of Ares cabin when Garrett leaves in a couple years.”

Skye listens raptly to all of this, although Fitz isn’t sure what good any of it will do her in trying to get Ward to like her. She looks over at where he and Garrett are sitting and talking, a couple rows between them and the rest of the campers, then down at the campfire with a groan.

“Mike, will you go roast my marshmallows for me?” she asks, grinning at the satyr.

“It’s like ten steps, Skye.”

“It’s like twelve steps. Twelve steps there, twelve steps back. It’s basically a marathon. Trip?” she says, turning her smile on the older boy.

“No way. Go down there yourself or enjoy your cold marshmallows. It’s not like cold marshmallows are awful or anything.”

“They are when the promise of roasted marshmallows are so close-”

“See!”

“-And yet so far away,” she finishes, and Trip rolls his eyes. Skye heaves two exaggerated sighs before Fitz holds out his arm.

“Here,” he says, and lets his hand light before he really even thinks about it. Skye, who has seen him run through fire, doesn’t even pause before holding her marshmallows out over the small flame. Fitz turns to say something to Trip, only to find the older boy and Mike staring at him with wide eyes. He realizes then that everyone has gone silent, even the Apollo campers at the front who had been leading the sing-along.

At first he assumes that the red glow is from the fire, but Jemma nudges his shoulder and points upward, towards the red hammer hanging above his head. For a few seconds, he just stares, unsure of how to react to finally, _finally_ being claimed, before looking down at the crowd. Coulson and May are standing, as are Ward and Garrett, which Fitz thinks is strange, since they’ve never shown any interest in him as far as he can remember. It’s Chiron who finally breaks the silence.

“Hail, Leopold Fitz, son of Hephaestus,” the centaur says, but no one rushes forward, like they had for Skye, and no one claps. They just keep staring. It takes a few moments for Fitz to see that they’re not staring at the fading red symbol above him, or even at him, really.

Every eye in camp is on the small flame still burning in his right hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lord, there’s a lot of notes on this one.
> 
> The ‘unclaimed table’ next to the Hermes table is not technically canon, though I figured now that the gods are better about claiming their kids, the Hermes kids would feel less bad about having the unclaimed kids be markedly different from them, at least in some things.
> 
> I didn’t want to put Jemma anywhere but in Athena, but in the books, all of Athena’s kids are described as having blond hair and grey eyes, which Jemma most definitely does not have. This issue will persist in one way or another throughout the story, as will the fact that Jemma seems to have three parents.
> 
> Fitz’s pyrokinesis is canon; Leo Valdez from HOO is pyrokinetic.
> 
> There will be more information on Steve Rogers and the rest of the Avengers as the story goes on, although they won’t ever be super important to the story. They’re sort of a prequel to Fitz’s story, and help explain some of the changes I’ve made from canon.
> 
> Tried to put a little MayFitz and MaySimmons in here, since, starting with the next chapter, MayFitzSimmons becomes a pretty prominent relationship within the story.


	4. the world is not forgiving of everyone's fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glancing around, he realizes he should probably get ready to move to the Hephaestus cabin. Fitz tries to remember the name of the head counselor, or any of the other Hephaestus campers, but his mind is drawing a blank all around. His new siblings, and he can’t even remember their names.

Fitz leaves the amphitheater as soon as the glowing red hammer disappears from over his head. Both Jemma and Skye try to follow him, but he shakes them off; after having the whole camp stare at him, he’s not sure he can deal with anyone looking at him, not even the two of them. He walks towards the Hermes cabin in a daze, collapsing onto the bed he hasn’t slept on in weeks.

Glancing around, he realizes he should probably get ready to move to the Hephaestus cabin. Fitz tries to remember the name of the head counselor, or any of the other Hephaestus campers, but his mind is drawing a blank all around. His new siblings, and he can’t even remember their names.

“I’m guessing that’s not the first time you’ve done that,” Coulson says, and Fitz looks up to see him and May standing in the doorway. It takes a few seconds, because his hands are shaking, but he holds his arm out and lets a flame jump to life in his palm. He closes his fingers to damp it when Coulson sits down on his bed across from him.

“I didn’t think so. It’s quite the trick, you know. There hasn’t been another demigod who could do it in centuries, right?” he says, addressing the last part to May, who is leaning against his bedpost.

“Almost 350 years,” she answers, and Fitz lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He had already figured out it was rare, even if he hadn’t quite admitted it to himself completely. No one in camp could do it, but he’d thought maybe there were older demigods, adults who had outgrown camp, who could. Fitz doesn’t feel special; he feels terrified.

“You need help moving your stuff over to Hephaestus cabin? I bet Anne Weaver’s there already. You probably know her, at least a little,” Coulson says, and Fitz nods numbly. Now that he’s heard her name, he can picture the head camper for Hephaestus. She spends a lot of time around the forge, had complimented him on Pyrrhos’ new scabbard.

The Hephaestus cabin is right next to Hermes, but Coulson still insists on carrying Fitz’s bag, leaving him with his backpack and his sword belt. Anne Weaver is standing next to the door, even though Fitz can still hear noise from over in the direction of the amphitheater. She smiles when she sees them, and he tries to return it, though he’s pretty sure it just makes him look vaguely sick.

“Welcome, Fitz. Probably should have known you belonged to us when I saw your work down at the forge. We’ve got a bed at the back with your name on it,” Anne says, and he follows her in. Coulson dumps his bag on the bed with a smile, while May pulls the Hephaestus counselor over to the side to talk to her.

“You’re still welcome to hang out in the Hermes cabin, if you ever need to,” Coulson says, his smile faltering for just a second before he fixes it on his face again, “If you’re settled, I think I’ll head back to the bonfire. See you at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Any questions?” Anne asks, looking away from her conversation with May. When Fitz shakes his head, she continues, “I think I’ll head back too. You coming?”

“I don’t- don’t think so,” Fitz says, shaking his head, staring around the cabin to avoid having to look at any of them. That would mean acknowledging that they’re all staring at him still, and he knows that if he goes back there will only be more stares. He waits until he hears them leave to turn back towards his bed to start unpacking the few possessions he has.

“You’ll train with me starting tomorrow,” May says, and Fitz jumps. He hadn’t realized she was still there, and he takes a few seconds to catch his breath before turning to where she’s standing in the doorway.

“With the Demeter cabin?” he asks, confused.

“No, just with me.”

“Why? Shouldn’t I train with my own cabin, now that I’ve got one?”

“The Hephaestus cabin won’t be doing the kinds of things you’ll need to know for what you’re going to have to do.”

“What do you mean, _what I’m going to have to do_?” he asks, not understanding, and she gives him a look that he’s pretty sure is meant to convey that he’s not going to like it when he does understand.

“Just meet me at the arena, after you’re done for the day,” she says, and then she’s out of the cabin and gone before he can say anything else.

Fitz knows he should probably unpack his stuff, especially since he’s now in what he supposes is his permanent home, but between the scene at the amphitheater and May’s mysterious instructions, the past twenty minutes have been as exhausting as anything he’s done at camp. He pulls his blankets out of his bag, then stows it with his backpack and his sword underneath the bed before curling up as close to the wall as he can manage.

———————

The man in the golden armor is in his dreams that night, arms ablaze. But he’s not screaming or laughing or tugging at his bonds; he’s completely still, staring upwards at something outside of Fitz’s scope of vision, and the grin on his face is worse, somehow, than the screaming or the laughter or anything else to this point. There’s a knowing quality to it that sends a chill down his spine, even dreaming.

He jerks awake, shivering. The laughter from past dreams echoes in his head, and when Fitz closes his eyes again, he can see the image of golden armor burned against the back of his eyelids. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it must be late, since he can see the shapes of his siblings- he wonders if it will ever stop being strange to think of them that way- in their beds. For a second, he considers going out to the strawberry fields, but he figures that he can’t really use the excuse that he doesn’t feel at home anymore; this is supposed to be where he belongs.

The whole cabin has a soft mechanical hum, and Fitz concentrates on that and taking deep breaths until he falls back asleep.

——————

Jemma is waiting outside of the arena when he shows up the next afternoon, and Fitz can’t help the sense of relief that wells up in his chest.

“Hello,” she says when she sees him, smiling, “Were you looking for me? I’m waiting for May.”

“To train with her?” he asks, and Jemma nods, looking confused, “Me too. Did she tell you why?” This time she shakes her head, and opens her mouth to say something when the Hermes cabin emerges from the arena, Coulson bringing up the rear. He smiles at the two of them and breaks away from his siblings.

“Hey, guys. You settling in alright, Fitz?” he asks, and Fitz nods, “Good. Are you guys waiting for me?”

“May, actually. We’re supposed to- she told us to meet her here to train when we were done for the day,” Jemma says, and Coulson’s smile drops. It seems like he’s about to say something in response when someone clears their throat from the entrance to the arena, and Fitz turns to see May standing there, arms crossed. She and Coulson stare at each other before he turns back to the other two.

“I’ll see you guys at dinner,” he says, and then heads towards the cabins without another backwards glance. May nods toward the arena, and Fitz and Jemma follow her in. There’s no dummies or other targets set up, just May standing in the middle with her sword.

“Fitz, you’re up first,” she says, and he glances towards Jemma, unsure.

“Up first for what?”

May rolls her eyes, “Show me what you’ve got,” she says, pointing at his sword. He’s barely got it out of the scabbard before she jumps at him. Jemma scrambles out of the way, and Fitz throws his weapon up to block May’s swing. He manages it just barely, stumbling backward with the force of the blow; she doesn’t give him a chance to get his balance back before she swings again.

This goes on for what feels like forever, but is probably only a few minutes. Fitz manages to hold on to his sword, and block the majority of May’s attacks, but that’s about it. Eventually, she stops swinging, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from collapsing directly to the ground in exhaustion; he can feel bruises forming in the places along his ribs where May had whacked him with the flat of her blade, and he’s pretty sure he’d sprained his ankle during one of his backward stumbles away from the swings.

Fitz limps over to where Jemma is leaning against the arena wall, looking at him with sympathy and holding out a canteen. He takes it with a nod and as much of a smile as he can manage; he’s not surprised anymore that the contents taste like tea, the way his mother makes it, and he’s careful not to drink too much of the nectar, even as thirsty as he is. Fireproof as he is, he doesn’t want to test just how much of the god’s choice of drink he can withstand.

He watches Jemma and May fight with a smile. Jemma has always been better with her knives than he has with any weapon, even Pyrrhos, and she holds her own much better than he had. May has little trouble blocking the few attacks Jemma manages, but she can’t get around Jemma’s knives either. Eventually, she stills, considering the other girl, still poised to block further attacks, and smiles slightly.

“Good,” is all she says, but Fitz, even after spending only a month at camp, knows that’s a pretty big compliment coming from May. Jemma knows too, if the grin that breaks across her face is any indication. They cross the arena floor back over to where Fitz is sitting, and he holds out the canteen, which Jemma takes, still grinning.

“Let me see your sword,” May says, and he waits anxiously as she examines it. He hadn’t really realized how protective he was of Pyrrhos, but he doesn’t like the sight of it in someone else’s hand much at all. Fitz tries not to breathe out audibly in relief when she hands it back.

“If you’re going to use that sword, you should learn to take advantage of that hook, and the notches. And we’ll stop by the armory to check your shield in on the way to dinner,” she says, and Fitz looks up from where he’d been studying his sword.

“Why?”

“It’s no good having a power that hasn’t been seen in three and a half centuries if you don’t have a hand free to use it,” she says, and Fitz nods. He’s never really thought about it, but the Demeter kids’ plant-based powers are probably as close as anybody in camp gets to his own. May doesn’t carry a shield.

“Come on. We’ve got an hour to work before dinner,” she says, and Fitz tries not to groan as Jemma helps him to his feet. He tests his ankle and it holds, the nectar having done its job, then follows the two girls across the arena floor.

Fitz keeps waiting for May to explain why he and Jemma are there, but she’s silent except when she’s demonstrating or correcting something. When the hour is up, she walks with them towards the dining pavillion, still not saying anything. Jemma asks Fitz questions about Hephaestus cabin, which he answers as best he can. They reach the cabins, and he can see Coulson standing in front of Demeter, arms crossed.

May sighs, “I’ll see you two tomorrow, same time.” With a final nod, she heads towards her cabin and the Hermes counselor.

Fitz isn’t sure what to do when they reach the dining pavillion. That morning and at lunch, he’d sat at the Hephaestus table, and Jemma had sat at the Athena table, leaving the unclaimed table empty for the first time in a month, but Jemma hadn’t looked comfortable either time and he didn’t think he’d looked any better. He’s saved from making a decision when he realizes that Trip and Skye are already sitting at the unclaimed table, and are waving them over.

“I can’t believe none of you told me,” is the first thing Trip says when Fitz sits down, and continues when they raise their eyebrows at him, “About Fitz’s superpower.”

“It’s not really a superpower,” Fitz says, blushing, “Especially not around here.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of people walking around camp casually lighting themselves on fire with their minds and walking away unscathed.”

“We were looking for you guys, before dinner, so Trip could stop complaining to just me. Were you hiding?” Skye asks, and Jemma shakes her head.

“Training with May.”

“Really? You guys invited to some sort of special training session with Demeter?”

“It was just the two of us,” Fitz says, “She wouldn’t tell me why, except that I wouldn’t get the kind of training that I would need with Hephaestus. For ‘what I’m going to have to do.’ Her words, whatever that means.”

“That’s cryptic, even for May. Wonder what she knows.”

“She took off after you pretty quickly, before even Coulson or Anne, after you left the bonfire. And Raina was saying that she and Coulson got into a fight last night, or at least an argument,” Skye says.

“They had one the day you guys showed up at camp, too. A big one, from what I’ve heard,” Trip inserts, and when Skye turns to him, he shrugs, “Hey, the Aphrodite campers aren’t the only gossips in camp. What did May tell you?” he asks Jemma.

“Just that I should meet her at the arena when I was done for the day. She caught me as I was headed back to my cabin last night. I was so surprised I didn’t really think to ask why.”

“Maybe she thinks you’re really going to need to know how to fight, for whatever reason. May’s the best fighter in camp, right?” Skye says, and Trip nods, but he looks puzzled.

“It makes sense for Fitz, I guess, since Hephaestus kids pretty much always prefer a jar of Greek fire to a sword, but it’s not like they get _no_ training. And Jemma’s mom is the goddess of battle, she’d be getting some of the best training in the camp, next to Ares, probably.”

“Speaking of Ares, you two aren’t the only ones who had someone volunteer to help them with their fighting. Ward stopped me on my way to breakfast, said that if I ever wanted some help or just some extra sparring practice, I should let him know.”

“How, in the retelling, do you manage to make that sound like he was asking you out on a date, instead of just offering to be your training partner?” Trip says, and Fitz smiles, which earns him a whack on the arm from Jemma.

“Leave her alone, you two. That’s very nice, Skye. Did you take him up on the offer?”

“I told him I’d think about it and let him know. Figured I could let him stew for a few days at least,” she answers, and sticks her tongue out at the two boys when they stifle their laughter. Jemma glares at them until they sheepishly turn back to their food.

—————-

“Maybe she’s decided to give us a day off?” Fitz says, and Jemma gives him a disbelieving look. They’ve been at this for a week now, and he wouldn’t mind a break. Nothing he’d done with Hermes was as exhausting as the work May was putting them through. Fitz wishes she would tell them why.

“Maybe you should go look for her,” she replies, and he sighs, pushing himself up from the ground outside the arena while Jemma stays put.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“One of us should stay here, in case she shows up. Then she won’t think we tried to skip.”

“And why do I have to be the one to go looking for her?”

“Because you’re already standing up,” Jemma says, grinning, and Fitz sighs before setting off towards the cabins. The Demeter cabin is deserted when he peeks in, as is the dining pavillion, and he figures that his best bet is the Big House; even if she’s not there herself, someone there might know where she was.

As he approaches the front of the house, Fitz can hear arguing, recognizes Coulson’s voice.

“-we never tell people about prophecies!” he says, and Fitz is surprised at how angry he sounds. He’s never heard Coulson more than vaguely annoyed before.

“And I haven’t told them anything!” He’s found May, and if Coulson’s anger had been shocking, he’s not sure what the word is for May’s, “But I’m not just going to let two kids walk into this with nothing, and this is the best thing I can do for them if you won’t let me tell them!”

“May,” Chiron cuts in, sounding much calmer than either of the two demigods, “This is how we’ve done things for a very, very long time. I speak from experience concerning prophecies, and their subjects.”

“So do I,” May replies, and she sounds more sad than angry now, “If I’m not allowed to give them information, I can at least give them skills.”

Fitz hears Chiron sigh as he comes around the corner of the house, Coulson and May trailing him. They freeze when they see him, and Fitz rubs at the back of his neck.

“I was- Jemma and I were waiting, and we didn’t know where you were.”

“Sorry, Fitz. I must have lost track of time,” she says, glancing at the other two, who won’t meet her eyes, “I’ll come now, if we’re done.” Chiron nods, and Fitz follows May off the porch.

“Sorry,” he says, once they’re a little ways from the Big House.

“For what?”

“It seemed like I might have interrupted something.”

“Don’t worry about it. I should have been paying attention to the time.”

“Is, um, is anything wrong? Can I, uh, help somehow?”

May smiles softly, shakes her head, “No. Coulson and I disagree on something important to both of us, and there’s no compromise. Now come on. We’ve wasted enough time already.” She starts to jog towards the arena, and Fitz barely manages not to groan as he follows her.

——————

There’s a bonfire that night, and Fitz is a surprised when Ward sits down next to Skye. He’s never seen the older boy sit with anyone but Garrett, who is across the amphitheater with May and Coulson. Garrett and Coulson seem to be doing most of the talking, glancing over at Ward and the others occasionally; Fitz assumes they’re just as surprised about Ward’s seating choice as he is.

“Oh, Fitz,” Skye sing-songs, and he turns to where she’s sitting between Mike and Ward.

“What?” he asks, suspicious about her tone of voice.

“The bonfire is really far away,” she says, grinning, and he sighs, stretching out his hand and letting a flame sprout in his palm, just large enough for Skye to hold her marshmallow over. Her grin grows, and Fitz lets the fire spread across his entire palm when Mike and Ward hold up their marshmallows too.

Across the crowd, he watches May stand and slowly make her way down the stands. Coulson watches her go with a frown until Garrett pushes at his shoulder with a laugh and he glances over, catching Fitz’s eye for a second, before turning to the other older boy. It doesn’t look like he and May have figured out their disagreement; Fitz wonders how many arguments like the one he’d overheard today they’ve had in the past week.

They’d started fighting the night he was claimed, according to Skye and her siblings in Aphrodite, and he feels bad that he may have contributed to whatever is between them right now. Coulson hadn’t looked pleased the next day when he’d found him and Jemma waiting for May outside the arena either, or afterward, when he’d been outside the Demeter cabin. If he had any idea why May was insisting on training him and Jemma, maybe he could figure out why the two of them were fighting.

_We never tell people about prophecies._

_I haven’t told them anything._

_I speak from experience concerning prophecies, and their subjects._

_I’m not just going to let two kids walk into this with nothing._

“Fitz!” Jemma says, alarmed, jarring him out of his thoughts, and he realizes that the flame he’d created to toast the marshmallows has started to creep over his wrist and down his arm.

“Sorry,” he says, looking not at Jemma but over at Coulson and Garrett, and then towards the entrance of the amphitheater where May had disappeared.

Whatever they were fighting about, it concerned _him_. Him and Jemma and, apparently, a prophecy of some sort, which Fitz doesn’t necessarily like the sound of. He’s about to ask Jemma if she knows anything more than he does when Ward speaks up.

“How long have you been able to do that? The fire thing?”

“Since I was little. Seven,” Fitz clarifies.

“And you’re totally fireproof? And you can keep anything from burning?”

“Er, as far as I know.”

“Can you do a full body burn?”

“Um, I’ve never really tried? Probably.” No one besides Jemma has ever been even close to as curious about his powers as Ward appears to be.

“Ward, stop badgering him and let him enjoy the bonfire,” Skye says, laughing, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not ‘badgering him.’ I’m just curious.”

“Would it be possible for you to act like a normal person instead of a robot for like half an hour? You can bother him some other time, they’re about to start the sing-along, and Trip will never shut up about it if we talk through it.”

Fitz stays through most of the sing-along, but he’s still one of the first to leave. He’s spent the entire week sleeping in the Hephaestus cabin, usually too exhausted from May’s training sessions and the rest of the day to even consider moving out to the strawberry fields. It’s supposed to be his home anyway, where he belongs at camp, and he’s been trying to adjust to that idea. Plus, there haven’t been any dreams since that first night, which is the longest stretch of peace he’s had in quite awhile, which he appreciates. But he doesn’t think he can bear to stay there tonight, and he grabs a couple blankets and heads out to the fields.

——————-

He expects to see the man in the golden armor; he’s gotten fairly good at knowing what nights the dreams will come. But instead it’s just the campfire, and the small figure next to it.

The contrast between the two scenes is huge. The campfire gives him the exact opposite feeling of the man in the golden armor; like home and warmth and safety. There’s something familiar about it now, outside of the repetition in his dreams, like he’s seen it in real life, though he can’t place exactly where. Fitz used to think that maybe it was a memory, unlike the other images, that it was Jemma’s silhouette, but he can tell it’s something different now. Someone different.

——————-

It’s one of the best nights of sleep he’s gotten at camp, and he wakes up to find Jemma curled up against his side. She stirs as he stretches, and smiles up at him sheepishly.

“You looked strange when you left the bonfire last night. I was worried,” she says, and he nods, “What’s wrong?”

He tells her about May and Coulson’s argument, and his theory that it was about them. That all of the fights have been about them. She listens quietly, playing with a loose thread on his blanket.

“Why wouldn’t May be allowed to tell us, if she knew something about us because of a prophecy, or whatever it is?”

“Chiron and Coulson both said that they never tell people. May wasn’t too happy about that, but she said that she hadn’t told us anything.”

“Which is true,” Jemma says, and Fitz can’t help but smile at the tone of grumpy tone in her voice, “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just not like you to be upset that you don’t know something,” he replies, and she whacks him with the blanket in retaliation.

“It’s bothering you too.”

He nods, “Yeah. But on the list of people I don’t want to annoy in camp, May is at the top of that list. And I feel like asking her a bunch of questions that she can’t answer is a good way to end up on her bad side.”

Jemma sighs, then stands, helping Fitz to his feet and grabbing one of the blankets.

“Come on. We’ll take these back to your cabin and then go to breakfast. I’m sure Ward has more questions about your pyrokinesis,” she says, and Fitz groans.

———————

Fitz jerks awake when someone kicks his foot. He sits up, reaching for his sword, before he sees May standing over him, wearing a black hoodie over her orange camp shirt.

“Come on,” she says, glancing around.

“Where? What time is it?” he asks, fumbling for his sword belt.

He’s been sleeping in the strawberry fields for three days now; none of his siblings have said anything, not even Anne. Most of them still seem to be avoiding him, like he could burst into flame at any minute, but a few of them besides the head counselor have warmed up to him. They’re impressed by his work at the forge, at the very least, but none of them have felt the need to comment on the fact that he’s not spending much time in Hephaestus cabin right now.

“The Big House,” May answers, and Fitz freezes halfway through putting his belt on.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No. But you will be if you don’t get moving,” she says, then pauses, “Well, probably not. The harpies seem to have a soft spot for you, for whatever reason. But I’ll be in trouble, and _then_ you’ll be in trouble.” Fitz swallows, hard. It’s not really the sort of thing you want to hear from someone who regularly swings a sword at your face, even if he thinks he can see her smiling slightly in the dark.

“How’d you get out here without getting caught then?”

“My boyfriend’s dad is the god of thieves. I’ve picked up a thing or two about sneaking around.”

“If I’m not in trouble, why are we going to the Big House at,” he glances at his watch, “two in the morning?”

“It’s time you got some answers,” May says, and Fitz stumbles in surprise. She turns and catches him by the elbows before he can fall, giving him an exasperated look.

“Answers about what?”

“You’re not stupid, Fitz. I’m pretty sure you know exactly what.”

He has a pretty good guess. “The prophecy. The one that you and Coulson were arguing about, the day you were late.”

“Yes.”

“Chiron and Coulson said that you don’t tell people,” he swallows hard, “You don’t tell subjects about prophecies.”

“Yes.”

“That you’ve been doing it that way for hundreds of years.”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Why? I mean, why don’t you tell them?”

May sighs, “Prophecies are vague. Almost always. And trying to interpret them, with incomplete information, before their time, it can cause problems. It can get people killed.”

“Then why do you want Jemma and I to know? And why aren’t you telling her? Why me?”

She stares at him for a long time in the darkness, and Fitz stands as tall as he can, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Because I believe people have a right to know about their own destinies. That it’s just as dangerous to leave them in the dark, when having information could help them. Could save their lives. And I don’t think it’s too early anymore,” she says, and she sounds sad again for a moment, before she takes a deep breath and continues, “And I’m telling you because the prophecy is about you. Jemma’s there too, and I’m pretty sure that whatever’s coming, she’s going to be right beside you, but in the end, the prophecy is about you.”

They’re standing by the back door to the Big House now, and Fitz stares at it, forcing himself to breathe. _Destiny. Prophecy. You._

“How do you know? How do you know it’s about me?” he asks, and he fights down his embarrassment at the way his voice shakes.

“I don’t know. But I’ve thought about this prophecy a lot, and I haven’t been this sure about one in a long time.”

“What if I don’t want to know? What if I just want to go back to sleep?” he asks, and May lets out a long breath, her eyes closed.

“The Oracle is the attic,” she finally says, “Through the door, up the stairs to the top, right near the window. You’ll have to be quiet, because Chiron and Mr. D both have apartments in the house. Go or don’t go, Fitz. It’s your destiny, so it’s your choice. I just got you here so you could make it. But I think if you’re brave enough to run into a burning building, you’re brave enough to walk up a set of stairs.”

“Fire can’t hurt me,” he says, not really knowing why he does. Probably because it sounds better than _I’m scared now. This isn’t fire_.

“It’s still your choice, Fitz. Maybe I’m wrong, and it’s not about you, and the Oracle will just sit there silently. Either way, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” she says, and then turns back towards the camp. He watches her go into she disappears into the darkness, then looks over towards the cabins, illuminated by the campfire that always burns in the center of the ring of buildings.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust, and for Fitz to figure out what he’s seeing, but then his breath catches in his throat. There’s a small silhouette in front of the fire, and the image is an exact replica of the one from his dreams. Warmth blooms in his chest, and he takes a step away from the Big House. He wants to go down there now, wants to know who it is, why they’re there, why this image keeps showing up in his dream, why it feels like this, and he wants to run as far away from the attic and the Oracle and whatever else is waiting for him.

_It’s your choice, FItz._

He takes a deep breath, and turns back towards the Big House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m getting better at think of the chapter titles! This one gets a title when it’s posted. I’m trying to do a Thing, with the chapter titles, which probably won’t become apparent for a while, and might not actually even end up working, because I’m not sure I’m clever enough to make it work, but we’re going to try our best.
> 
> Anne Weaver! She’s gone through quite a few different roles in the planning stages of this story, and I finally settled on this one as she became more and more important, to Fitz in particular, and to Jemma and May to a certain extent, which we don’t get to see here but will hopefully show up later in the story. She’s still a minor character really, but she’s one of the more prominent ones.
> 
> Confirmation that Coulson and May are actually dating! This is the first time I’ve included a romantic relationship for the two of them in a story of mine, so 1) I might be awful at it and 2) it’s not going to be that big of a deal, but they’re there. In most AU fics, the ‘kids’ get de-aged and May and Coulson get stuck as adults, but for them to feature prominently in this fic, I needed them to be kids too. They’re sixteen/seventeen here, I haven’t quite decided. Ward and Trip are fifteen, and Jemma and Fitz are fourteen, with Skye maybe four or five months younger than them. On a slightly related note, Chiron and Mr. D are in this story as themselves, rather than replacing them, because they’re part of the myths, not part of the Percy Jackson story. I figured they needed to stay put.
> 
> Fitz drinks nectar in one scene, which is the drink of the gods. It tastes like a demigod’s favorite food/drink and speeds up their already quick healing, but it’s fatal to mortals and drinking too much nectar/eating too much ambrosia can kill a demigod, since they’re only half-god.
> 
> Next chapter, Fitz hears the prophecy, an important goddess is introduced and the wheels of the plot really begin to turn (hopefully?).


	5. be still and go on to bed, no one knows what lies ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s enough moonlight coming through the window that, with the fire in his palm, he gets a pretty good look at the Oracle, and he swallows hard against the urge to be sick. It’s a mummy, wearing a tie-dyed dress and sitting on a wooden stool. The flame in his hand dances and flares as he tries to keep himself from shaking; Fitz forces himself to breathe deeply despite the overwarm, musty air of the attic.

Fitz has been in the Big House a handful of times before, when Trip has dragged them over to play ping pong in the rec room, but that’s always been during the day. He’s never been in the house alone, or above the first floor. Every time a stair groans under his weight, he shrinks into the shadows at the side of staircase, holding his breath, though he doubts it will do him much good if Mr. D or Argus comes to investigate the noise.

When he reaches the green trapdoor at the top of the four flights of stairs, Fitz takes a moment to catch his breath and more importantly, to try to calm his nerves. It doesn’t work very well, since his hands are still shaking when he pulls the cord to drop the trapdoor. He barely manages to catch the ladder that starts to fall, lowering it to the floor slowly to keep it from making too much noise. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he climbs as fast as he can, tugging the ladder up and the door closed behind him.

He can’t see anything until he lets his hand flare to life, and he suddenly wishes May had snuck him in during the day. The attic is full of what he assumes are trophies from past heroes, which mostly seem to be dented pieces of armor and body parts belonging to various monsters, all of which look terrifying in the dim firelight. Fitz steps around a table covered in jars he tries not to look at too closely, moving towards the window cautiously.

There’s enough moonlight coming through the window that, with the fire in his palm, he gets a pretty good look at the Oracle, and he swallows hard against the urge to be sick. It’s a mummy, wearing a tie-dyed dress and sitting on a wooden stool. The flame in his hand dances and flares as he tries to keep himself from shaking; Fitz forces himself to breathe deeply despite the overwarm, musty air of the attic.

“Hello,” he starts, feeling foolish, “I’m Fitz. Um, Leopold Fitz. Melinda May thought you might, um, want to talk to me,” he says, then sighs when nothing happens. There’s a moment of relief, that May was wrong, that the Oracle can’t tell him anything about his destiny, and then a voice fills his head: _I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask._

The mummy is sitting up now, green mist pouring from her mouth and pooling around his feet. It feels ancient and powerful, and it’s all Fitz can do not to sprint for the trapdoor. May’s voice mingles with the Oracle’s in his head: _You’re brave enough to walk up a set of stairs_. Now all he has to do is keep himself from running back down them.

The mummy’s mouth doesn’t move, but he knows that it’s the Oracle speaking, that the body is just a receptacle for something else. The voice seems to come as much from inside Fitz’s own head as it does anywhere else.

_The forge god’s child holding flame, comes with dark-eyed wisdom’s daughter._

_A  titanic escape the gold one makes, the forged trust breaks, a hero’s sixteenth birthday dawns, the father of the sun moves his pawns._

_Five stand by the fire’s chosen one, by whose sword and heart battles lost or won._

The green mist swirls around him with enough energy that the fire cupped in his palm flickers. Terrified of being left in the dark with the Oracle and the mist, he pushes the fire up his arm, far enough that it brushes against the sleeve of t-shirt. For a moment, the mist hangs silently in front of him, and then it’s retreating back towards the mummy, which slumps back against the wall. It looks for all the world like it had never moved, like maybe he had hallucinated the whole thing, and like it never plans on moving again.

Fitz stands there among the mementos, staring at the Oracle, fire stretching from elbow to palm. The light seems to be catching on all the most terrifying things in the attic, of which there are many, including what looks like a huge snake head with shark teeth. He can see a label underneath it, but he doesn’t want to venture any deeper into the attic. In a daze, he lowers the ladder down as quietly as he can, then scrambles down it and the stairs; he knows he’s probably making too much noise, but he thinks he’s about to be sick, which would probably be louder and inevitably messier.

Stumbling outside, Fitz ends up on his knees, shivering, dry heaving, pressing his knuckles down into the dirt. It’s a few seconds before he can force himself to take deep breaths and lower his head to the ground to rest it against the cool grass. He rolls over, sitting up and then curling back down on himself, elbows resting on his knees, running the words of the Oracle’s prophecy through his head, trying to think logically.

_It doesn’t have to be about me. Whatever May thinks, it doesn’t have to be about me. Why would it be about me?_

Fitz looks down towards the cabins, considering going down and waking someone up; Jemma or May or Coulson or _anyone_ , just so he doesn’t have to sit here on the grass, alone with the things he’s just heard. Someone to tell him what it means, or more accurately, to tell him it doesn’t mean what he thinks it does, what May thinks it does, that it’s got very little to do with him, if anything.

Instead, he makes himself stand, takes deep breaths until his legs stop shaking, then heads back towards the strawberry fields. He doesn’t think he’ll get much sleep, but it seems like a better option than sitting on the ground outside of the Big House, waiting to be caught. While no one has ever really said anything about the fact that he doesn’t always sleep in his cabin, Fitz doesn’t think they’ll be quite so willing to look the other way about this.

He lies awake for a long while, curled up under his blanket, watching the stars. When he finally drifts off, his dreams are filled with dark laughter and green smoke, and he wakes up throughout the night. By the time the sun rises, he’s given up on getting any sort of actual sleep, and he stops by the cabin to drop off his blanket before heading to the dining pavilion. There’s already food sitting out, which is surprising, since it’s barely half past six, but Fitz just tosses a piece of toast into the fire and sits at the Hephaestus table.

A few minutes after he’s started eating, he looks up at the sound of arguing to see Ward and Garrett come into the pavillion. Ward opens his mouth to say something, but Garrett puts in elbow into his ribs when he sees Fitz, and the younger boy falls silent.

“Morning, Fitz. Little early for you, isn’t it?” Garrett says, grabbing three pieces of toast, tossing one casually towards the fire pit. Fitz gives him a small smile, but doesn’t say anything. He’s not really surprised to see either of the Ares boys already up; their morning training sessions are kind of legendary around camp. “You’re welcome to join us at the arena, if you want to get some extra work in.”

“Um, I’ll probably just go work in the forge.”

“Good. Where you belong anyway,” says Ward from behind him where he’s gathering his own breakfast. Fitz feels a flare of anger and opens his mouth to respond, though he’s not sure what to say, but Garrett beats him to it.

“No need to be rude, little brother,” he says, laughing a little.

“I just meant- I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Ward responds.

“That’s the kid’s problem most of the time. Not trying to be rude, and yet he can’t seem to help himself. Gets it from dad, probably,” Garrett says, and Ward scowls behind him, but blanks out his expression when his older brother turns towards him, “See you later, Fitz.”

He watches the two of them leave before turning back to finish his breakfast. When he’s done, Fitz heads towards the forge, figuring that he might as well get some work done if he’s going to be awake at this ridiculous hour.

——————-

May gives him the day off. He sits up in the second row of the arena, watching the two girls go back and forth across the arena floor. Jemma still isn’t anywhere near May’s level, but she’s gotten better in even just the short time they’ve been working with her, and Fitz is pretty sure May likes training with her a lot more than she likes fighting him. He doesn’t really mind that much.

The fact that he’d only gotten a few hours of real sleep is catching up with him, and he starts when he realizes May is sitting next to him. Jemma’s nowhere to be seen.

“I told her to go ahead to dinner,” May explains, “It wasn’t easy to convince her to leave you behind, even just for a meal. She knows something was off with you today. You should tell her soon.”

“How do you even know she’s involved?”

“Because it took me five minutes just to convince her to go to dinner without you,” she says, and he sighs again, “ _Dark-eyed wisdom’s daughter. Forge god’s child holding fire_. Does that sound like anyone else in camp?”

“That’s just the first part. What if we’re just the signal or whatever, that the prophecy is starting and we should look out for the _fire’s chosen one_?”

“You might be right. Or I might be right. One of us has a lot more experience with prophecies though.”

“Why does it have to be me? Why isn’t it you? Or Coulson or Ward? Or anyone else? Why would it be me?” May looks like she wants to say and then decides against it, turning to look out over the arena floor as he continues, “I mean, it took a month for my father to even claim me. I’m not a hero.”

“By virtue of being here, you are.”

“I don’t think that’s really how it works. And I don’t think you think it works that way either.”

That actually earns him a smile. “Someday, I’m going to be right, and you’re going to have to save the world. I know you’re scare-”

“I’m not afraid,” he says, the words coming out in one breath.

It’s a lie. He knows it’s a lie, and what’s more, May knows it too. The fear has been sitting like a weight in his stomach since the night before, but there’s a difference between him knowing he’s scared and having someone else actually say it out loud. Fitz expects her to contradict him, to call him out on the lie, but instead she just stands.

“Come on,” she says, hopping over the wall down to the arena floor, waiting for Fitz to follow her.

“Where are we going? Dinner?” he asks hopefully, and May rolls her eyes, drawing her sword.

“Not yet. You’ve still got training to do.”

“I thought I had the day off!”

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You said ‘Fitz, you look ill, take today off!’”

“I was lying. Come on, sword out. No, no, other hand,” she says, when he moves to draw Pyrrhos.

“I’m right-handed.”

“I know. But if we’re going to expect you to save the world, the least we can do is make sure you have every advantage possible. So, left hand.”

“Who knows about the prophecy?” he asks, drawing Pyrrhos and then switching it into his off hand, “Do they know I know?”

“No one knows you know, but I’ll have to tell Coulson soon. I don’t like hiding things from him. And then Chiron and Mr. D.”

“You’ll get in trouble.”

May shrugs, “What can they do, give me extra chores? I made my choice, Fitz.”

“We should tell Jemma, before you tell Coulson. She deserves to know too,” he says, shifting his grip on his sword, trying to feel more comfortable with it in his left hand.  May nods.

“Night after tomorrow. I’ll tell her I need to talk to her, and take her up to the Big House after everyone has gone to sleep.”

“You think the Oracle will speak to her?”

“I’ll wait and tell her myself if it doesn’t, but I think it will.”

“Are you and Coulson the only campers that know about it?”

“John Garrett was with us when we heard it. We were doing inventory for Chiron in the attic last fall when the Oracle started talking. As far as I know, he hasn’t told anyone else, but it’s kind of hard to predict what John will decide to do on any given day. Now come on, we’d better get started or you’ll never make it to dinner.”

——————

Fitz hadn’t been able to sleep, despite being exhausted from the night before and his workout with May, and he’d wandered down to the forge without realizing where he was going until he was already there. There’s not much he can work on this late without getting yelled at by someone for making too much noise, but that’s not really why he’d come.

His siblings sometimes talk about how they feel closer to their father at the forge, and he supposes that he came down here looking for that. Even when Hephaestus had claimed him, he hadn’t felt any particularly strong presence beyond the glowing hammer above his head. Fitz wonders if he knows about the prophecy; probably, with him being a god and all, but there are some things even gods can’t do. That’s why they need heroes in the first place.

“He knows. That’s why he claimed you when he did.”

Fitz looks up at the source of the voice, surprised to see a little girl sitting next to a small fire in the middle of the forge. He’s seen her a few times before, usually tending to the huge firepit the cabins are built around, and he’d always assumed she was a camper; she can’t be much older than nine or ten, dressed in a soot stained brown dress with a scarf wrapped over her hair, but there’s something in her voice that doesn’t quite match up with her appearance.

“Sorry to have startled you,” she says with a small smile, poking at the fire with the iron rod in her hand, “I just thought you might like an answer to your question. You usually do.”

Fitz stands, crossing the forge to sit cross-legged on the other side of the fire, “How do you know that?”

“I’d like to think that after millenia, I know my nephew fairly well.”

It takes a few moments for his brain to engage completely after realizing that the little girl sitting in front of him is a goddess, to run through what he knows about the Olympian family from Jemma’s book and Chiron’s classes. When it clicks, he scrambles from his sitting position up on to one knee, earning a laugh from the girl.

“Hestia,” he manages after clearing his throat, which earns him another laugh.

“You are very sharp. The kneeling is nice, but unnecessary,” she says, and Fitz settles back down across the fire from her. This close, he can see that her eyes aren’t a reflection of the flames in front of her, but are themselves burning, warm and soft. A goddess, disguised as a little girl, spending all her time at a camp for demigods.

“I like it here. That’s why I stay. I gave up my throne, and I’m not needed at Olympus unless there’s a meeting or a dispute of some kind. I’d much rather spend my time here; Mount Olympus is a seat of power, but Camp Half-Blood is a home.”

“Home is where the hearth is,” Fitz says.

“Exactly, Leopold.”

No one has ever called him by his first name except his mum, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to correct a goddess. Besides, it’s almost nice to hear it again.

“My father only claimed me because he thinks the prophecy is about me?” he asks, and Hestia’s silence answers for her. Fitz sighs, “Guess I shouldn’t really be surprised. Spent most of my life thinking or saying mean things about him.”

“The flaw is with him, not you,” she responds, “Waiting for you to show off your pyrokinesis to claim you was a mistake, although I’m not sure it can be considered surprising. My family has quite the flair for the dramatic, you may have noticed.”

“Yeah, well, the joke might end up being on him, you know. The prophecy doesn’t have to be about me, right?”

“No,” says Hestia, although she sounds about as convinced as May had, “It doesn’t have to be.”

Fitz doesn’t say anything in return, but after a few seconds he reaches forward to skim his fingers across the top of the small fire she seems to have brought with her to the forge. Warmth spreads up his arm and into his chest; he takes a deep breath, and scoops some of the flame into his palm. It’s a darker red than any flame he’s seen before, and he’s seen a lot.

“I’m the one who taught your father that trick, you know,” Hestia says, and the fire jumps from his hand to hers.

“Really?”

“Yes. A gift, from me to my nephew, which he has occasionally seen fit to pass on to his children.”

“Thank you, I suppose. It’s gotten me out of a couple of bad scrapes,” he says, and Hestia tilts her head, like she’s considering him. Fitz ducks his head, lets a flame of his own spring to life in his palm, carefully tips the bright yellows and oranges to mingle with the deep red of the campfire.

“If your father hadn’t claimed you, I would have,” she says, and Fitz looks up at her in surprise, “Is the idea really so shocking?”

“No. I mean, it’s just- can you even do that?”

“I have no children of my own to claim. Not so long ago, it wasn’t that unusual for demigods to go unclaimed for a month or more. Some of them were never claimed at all. Occasionally, I would claim one of them as my own. Family is more than blood, Leopold.”

“Why claim me though? My own father couldn’t even be bothered t-”

“Well, I can. And I do.”

“What?”

“I claim you. Leopold Fitz, son of Hestia.”

The forge is suddenly bathed in soft orange light, and Fitz looks up in awe at the flame-like symbol floating above his head. Warmth fills his chest, like when he’d touched the campfire and, he realizes, like when he’d seen the image of it in his dreams.

“The dreams of demigods are more than just dreams,” Hestia says, and Fitz wonders how she keeps doing that, seemingly reading his mind, before he realizes she’s a goddess and things like mind reading probably shouldn’t surprise him all that much. “What else do you dream about?”

“I used to dream about this place. Camp. The sound, and the smell of strawberries. Somehow I knew it was, um, a place for us, I guess. Jemma and me.”

“What else?”

“A house on fire.”

“The one you rescued your friend Skye from? When not many people notice you, you learn a lot of things,” she continues, when he looks at her with the question clear on his face.

“Yeah. The fire that day, it felt wrong. It didn’t burn me, but it almost did. It stung, and concentrating on not burning gave me the worst headache I’ve ever had. It felt _wrong_. Fire’s never felt like that before,” he says, unconsciously ghosting his fingers over the red campfire to send the feeling of warmth rolling up his arm and into his lungs. Hestia just nods for him to continue.

“But I haven’t dreamed about those things in months. Not since we got to camp. There’s just been you and-”

“And what?”

“A man. Or, he looks like a man. He’s huge though, and he’s wearing golden armor, and he’s chained to… something. I can’t ever see more than just him. He’s laughing sometimes, or screaming. I can’t decide which is worse,” he says, and then looks up from the fire at Hestia, who is giving him a strange look, “What?”

“Nothing. I just wish that the heroes we so often need weren’t so terribly young,” she says with a sad smile, “You should get some sleep. You’re telling Jemma about the prophecy tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah. And then May will probably tell Coulson, who will tell Chiron and Mr. D, most likely.”

“Tomorrow will be a long day then. You should sleep.”

“Not sure I can.”

Hestia scooped a handful of flames out of the campfire, and then held them out to him. Puzzled, he reached for it, letting the fire flow from her hand to his. The warm feeling that he’d gotten touching the campfire rolls up his arm and into his chest, moving out from there. Suddenly, Fitz is having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“That’s, uh- wow,” he says, shaking his head, and Hestia smiles.

“The power of home. You’d better get back to your cabin, or the strawberry fields. Probably won’t be on your feet for much longer.”

“How will people know? About-” he’s interrupted by his own yawn, “About you claiming me. Or is it, um, secret?” Another yawn.

“Dionysus will know, and I suspect he’ll tell the others, and Chiron. Once two people know something in this camp, it’s hard to keep it a secret. People will know. Now, sleep, Leopold.”

Fitz manages to make it up to the strawberry fields and stretch out under the stars before he finally can’t keep his eyes open one second longer. He doesn’t dream of anything that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s a significant amount of FitzMay here and not much Fitzsimmons. The FitzMay will continue to a certain degree, and the Fitzsimmons will increase again as the story continues.
> 
> That said, look, the prophecy! That’s exciting, right? Hopefully updates will begin coming quicker as the plot picks up here. I never really expected to do this much lead-up (this fic has gotten impressively larger since I originally came up with the concept), so I think the writing will pick up at least a bit as I get to the stuff I really originally planned out with more details.
> 
> Also, concerning the prophecy, like, I know it’s not great. But it’s there. It says the things I want it to say. So we’re calling it good.
> 
> The Hestia bit might seem random at the moment, but I hope it will make more sense, or at least be more, I don’t know, acceptable as the story continues. She’s important, and the relationship between her and Fitz is important. I’m borrowing the idea of Hestia claiming demigods from a number of other fics; it’s not an idea I came up with entirely on my own.
> 
> Some of you are going to say ‘Zoe, why pick Fitz as your chosen one, instead of a more likely choice like Skye or Coulson?’ Well, there’s a short answer and a long answer.
> 
> The short answer is that I’m Leopold Fitz-centric trash and I always will be, and all of you should know that by now. Also it’s my fic and I do what I want.
> 
> The longer answer is that if you take the characters from AoS, and compare them against the characters in PJO, Fitz matches up the best against Percy. There’s an argument to be made for Skye, but in the end, I think, since PJO and this AU revolve around the classical idea of the Greek hero, and that that hero has a heroic trait and a fatal flaw which reflect each other, that idea has to be given weight in the comparison.
> 
> And if there is one person who is ‘to save a friend, you’d sacrifice the world’ to the bone, it’s Leopold Fitz.
> 
> And again, it’s my fic, and he’s my favorite, so he gets to be the chosen one.


	6. part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz waits for Jemma out in the strawberry fields. He’d wanted to go with her up to the Big House, but May had said that she’d have enough trouble sneaking her out of Athena cabin and up to the house without him standing around, ‘worrying and making noise.’ He’d felt pretty good about his ability to be quiet, and he was the one the harpies ignored for whatever reason, but he’d learned pretty quickly during his time at camp that you didn’t argue with May when she got that particular stormy look on her face, so he’s sitting in the strawberry fields, passing a little flame across his fingers to avoid tugging leaves off the plants in his nervousness.

Fitz waits for Jemma out in the strawberry fields. He’d wanted to go with her up to the Big House, but May had said that she’d have enough trouble sneaking her out of Athena cabin and up to the house without him standing around, ‘worrying and making noise.’ He’d felt pretty good about his ability to be quiet, and he was the one the harpies ignored for whatever reason, but he’d learned pretty quickly during his time at camp that you didn’t argue with May when she got that particular stormy look on her face, so he’s sitting in the strawberry fields, passing a little flame across his fingers to avoid tugging leaves off the plants in his nervousness.

The moon’s full and bright, so he can see her when she reaches the field, picking her way through the strawberries, and stands, letting the flame in his hand die. Jemma stops a little ways down the row from him, considering him for a second, and then she crosses the few feet between them to hug him. Fitz doesn’t hesitate in wrapping his arms around her in return, letting out a stuttering breath as her hold on him tightens a little.

It’s the first time in a long time, at least since Jemma was claimed, that it’s felt like just the two of them, with no camp or gods or destinies looming over their shoulders. They stand like that for a while, not moving or speaking, just holding each other, until Jemma pulls back to study him for a few seconds before settling down among the strawberry plants. He sits next to her, and she drops her head to rest against his shoulder.

“You know then? The Oracle talked to you?” he asks, and she nods without lifting her head.

“I am _dark-eyed wisdom’s daughter_. Doesn’t really describe anyone else in camp, does it?”

“It doesn’t all have to be about us. We could just be, you know, the signal that things are starting. None of the rest of it has to be about us at all.”

“May thinks it is. And from what she said, so does Coulson, and Chiron.”

Fitz doesn’t have anything to say in response to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all for a few minutes. Finally, he sighs, tipping his head to rest against hers, “When is May telling Coulson that we know?”

“Tomorrow morning, I think. She said she didn’t like keeping secrets from him, wanted to tell him as soon as she could. She’s pretty sure he’ll tell Chiron and Mr. D almost immediately, and that they’ll want to talk to us.”

Fitz nods, as that’s pretty much what she’d told him the other day, and then they sit in silence for a while.

“It’s a little bit exciting, you know,” Jemma says, and Fitz lifts his head so he can turn to look at her, “The idea that we could be heroes, like in the stories.”

She’s looking up at the stars while she talks, and he smiles. He should have known she’d be excited about the prospect of having a chance to save the world; Jemma has always been the braver out of the two of them, the one who thought there was some greater purpose for the abilities they had.

Fitz tilts his head back to rest against hers, and they sit like that for a few minutes. Eventually, Jemma scoots away from him a little, tugging on his shirt until he stretches out along the ground and she can curl up against his side, pulling the blanket he’d brought with him up over both of them. A feeling remarkably similar to the one that Hestia had filled him with using her fire blooms in his chest, and he looks down to see Jemma looking up at him from his shoulder, already half asleep, smiling softly.

“We’re going to be all right,” she says, and Fitz takes a deep breath, nodding slightly, although he’s pretty sure Jemma is already asleep and can’t see him. He squirms a little to get comfortable, and she protests the movement without waking up. Fitz falls asleep smiling.

—————–

When they were playing ping-pong with Trip and Skye, the rec room seemed pretty inviting, but that’s not true now. Fitz and Jemma are at one end of the table, with Chiron and Mr. D at the other end. Coulson and May are next to them, and Fitz can’t help noticing that they’re standing farther apart than they usually do. John Garrett is there as well, leaning against the wall and looking bored; Fitz isn’t sure how comfortable he is with him being here, or how much he knows about the prophecy. The older boy has always been nice to him, when he bothers to pay any attention to him at all, but he doesn’t really know him at all, and he doesn’t have much desire to.

Chiron’s sheer size means he dominates the room, but the stormy expression on his face would be enough to do the trick for him, even if he’d been in his wheelchair. Mr. D seems torn between boredom and anger, sipping on his Diet Coke with arms crossed, staring down the table at Fitz and Jemma before shifting to glare at May.

“Melinda,” Chiron starts, and Fitz tries to remember if he’s ever heard May called by her first name, “I can’t say I’m not disappointed in you. I thought I was very clear about the camp’s policy concerning prophecies.”

“You were.” May is holding eye contact with the centaur, mouth set in a straight line.

“A policy that has existed for centuries.”

“Yes.”

“A policy that I have formed through hundreds of experiences dealing with prophecies, and which you countered based on a single incident.”

“So the loss of any demigod is acceptable?” May challenges, and Mr. D opens his mouth to respond before Chiron cuts him off with a look.

“Of course not. Which is why we do the best we can.”

“That’s all I was trying to do,” May says, and Chiron sighs, glancing down the table at Fitz and Jemma before turning back to her.

“I know. And I’ve talked with Garrett and Coulson, and they agree with that assessment,” he says, and May looks quickly at Coulson, who won’t meet her eye. Garrett speaks up from his spot against the wall.

“It’s not that I really care whether you were right or wrong, it’s more that I just don’t care that you told them. I’m not really convinced it’s about him,” he says, smiling, and Fitz feels Jemma tense next to him, pulling herself up to her full height.

He stiffens too, wants to say something but isn’t sure what. It’s like when Ward had said he belonged in the forge or May had tried to say he was afraid; Fitz knows it’s true, but someone saying it out loud bothers him, despite the fact that he’s been saying the same thing for the past few days every chance he got.

“Thank you for your input, Gordon,” Mr. D says, and Garrett leans away from the wall like he’s going to correct him, but he continues without acknowledging him, “Hephaestus certainly thinks so. And Hestia does, if the fact that she claimed him is any indication.”

Chiron looks at Hephaestus and everyone else looks at Fitz, who squirms under the scrutiny. He’d meant to tell them, especially Jemma, but he hadn’t really managed to figure out how to do it yet. He tugs at his ear nervously, staring down at a place on the ping-pong table where the painted lines have faded.

“Hestia claimed you?” Chiron asks, turning from Mr. D to join the rest of them in staring at Fitz, who nods.

“A few nights ago. With the, um, glowing symbol over my head and everything.”

“She hasn’t done that in decades. Not for anyone, much less someone who has already been claimed,” the centaur says, sounding almost impressed, and Fitz shifts under his gaze, “Did she say why she did it?”

“Why does she have to have a particular reason? Can’t she have just claimed him because she wanted to? Because he’s Fitz?” Jemma says, stepping forward so she’s just slightly in front of him, her shoulder overlapping his.

Chiron smiles, though it’s small. “Of course. I’m sorry if my question indicated that I might have thought otherwise, Jemma.” Yet another sigh, “I know this is a lot for the two of you to take in, and I’m sorry you’re having to deal with it, whether or not the prophecy is about you. Garrett is right that we can’t know for sure what it means, not right now, though we all have our guesses, I’m sure. I’d ask that the two of you not tell anyone else about the prophecy, at least for the moment, and that you not worry too much about it. Neither of you turn sixteen for more than a year, so hopefully we have a little time to prepare before you’re needed, if you’re needed at all. But the more people that know, the more danger you may be in.

“That goes for the three of you as well,” Chiron says, turning to look at Coulson, May and Garrett, “While I understand why you thought you needed to do what you did, I would ask that you refrain from it in the future. Since you seem quite convinced that Fitz and Jemma are the subjects of the prophecy, I don’t think you’ll find that too difficult, Melinda. Now, if the rest of will excuse us, May and I have to discuss the editions to her chore rotation for the next few weeks.”

Coulson looks like he wants to say something, and Fitz almost speaks up in her defense as well, but May silences both of them with a look. _I made my choice_. She knew what was going to happen if she told Fitz and Jemma, and she was ready to accept the consequences. The other four campers file out of the house, leaving her to deal with Chiron and Mr. D.

Garrett nods at Coulson before setting off toward the arena, where Fitz assumes Ward is waiting for him; the two sons of Ares have been spending even more time training lately than usual. Coulson manages to smile back at his friend, then turns to the two younger campers.

“I’d better go make sure my cabin hasn’t gotten into too much trouble while they knew I was busy. They get sort of antsy on the weekends towards the end of summer. Well, even antsier than usual.” He smiles at them before starting towards the cabins at a jog.

“We should probably find Trip and Skye, before they wonder where we are. Skye will never stop asking questions if she thinks something is up, and you know how awful I am at lying. It’s probably best that I don’t have to try,” Jemma says, and Fitz nods, staring after Coulson.

“You go ahead. I need to talk to Coulson- I need to tell Coulson something. I’ll catch up,” he says, and waits for Jemma to nod before setting off after the older boy. Fitz catches up to him at the door of Hermes cabin and Coulson invites him in. They stand in the empty cabin for a few seconds, Coulson walking around and straightening up his siblings’ things, Fitz standing a couple steps inside the door; this is the first time he’s been back since he’d been claimed.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, when he finally can’t stand the silence anymore. Coulson looks up from where he’s inspecting something one of his siblings had hidden under their bed, probably trying to figure out if it was stolen or not.

“For what?”

“Um, well, you and May have been fighting, and I know you didn’t want her to tell me about the prophecy. I feel bad that you guys are fighting because of me.”

Coulson sighs, “Thanks, but it’s not your fault.” Another sigh, this one longer, “It’s not her fault either. It’s not anybody’s fault.” He stares at the object in his hands for a few seconds longer before tossing it back onto the bed with a shrug.

“You know, I was already at camp when everything happened with the Avengers and _Kronos_. I was pretty young, but I was here. And I thought, after everything they did, everything the camp went through- I mean, they had to fight Kronos, and a handful of other Titans alongside him. I thought maybe we’d get at least a little break before we had to save the world again, you know? It’s not like I expected life to suddenly turn into a picnic for demigods, not even with the things the Avengers got the gods to agree to or the other things that changed when they defeated Kronos. But I didn’t think I’d see anything like this again, not any time soon.”

“You know what the prophecy means, don’t you? Or at least you think you do,” Fitz says, and Coulson smiles, nods.

“I’ve got some pretty good guesses. I’m not going to tell you,” he continues, at Fitz’s expectant look.

“Why not? You said that you thought May did the right thi-”

“All I ever said was that I know May did what she did because she thought it was the right thing to do. That doesn’t mean that I think she was right, or that I’m going to do the same thing. Prophecies can be incredibly dangerous, and whether I’m right in what I’m thinking or not, this one is going to be enough trouble without me making it worse.”

“How do you know that you’d make it worse?”

“I don’t. Just like May didn’t know if she’d make it any better by telling you and Jemma. You’re just going to have to trust that when the time comes, you’ll know what you need to know. Now, I really do need to go check on my siblings. If nobody keeps an eye on them, they’re likely to walk out of camp for the year with just as much of somebody else’s stuff in their suitcase as their own.” He gives Fitz one more smile, than ducks around him and out the cabin door. Fitz follows after a few seconds, since there’s no reason to hang around the Hermes cabin if Coulson won’t give him any answers.

The scene that greets him outside is surprising; Trip, Skye and Jemma are all gathered around the campfire in the center of the buildings, talking to Hestia, who waves him over with a smile.

“You have very nice friends, Leopold,” she says, when he’s slipped into the circle between Skye and Jemma.

“Thanks,” he says, and Skye bumps his shoulder with hers.

“Pretty sure that was a compliment for us, _Leopold_ ,” she says, and he glares at her, “Trip and I were just going to look for you guys when we saw Jemma talking to Hestia here and came to find out what was up.”

“You claimed him?” asks Trip, and Hestia nods, “Won’t his dad be mad about that?”

“He might be, but he’ll have a hard time telling me about it.”

“Why?”

“The gods aren’t allowed to fight in her presence,” Jemma says, and Hestia smiles.

“Very good, Jemma. So even if Fitz’s father would like to have it out with me, I don’t think he’ll have much luck. And it wouldn’t matter to me anyway. I didn’t claim Fitz just to spite his father; it had very little to do with anyone but Fitz himself.”

Fitz blushes, and Skye bumps his shoulder again, harder than last time, but she’s smiling, “Any way, Trip and I were looking for you two. He wants to try to beat his best time on the rock wall, and of course he needs as much of an audience as possible. Ward’s supposed to come too, whenever he’s done training with Garrett. He would probably be done already, but he couldn’t find Garrett this morning.”

“I think I saw him heading over towards the arena a little while ago,” Jemma says, and Fitz bites back a smile.

“I’ll let you go then, if there are records on the line. It was nice meeting you, Jemma and Skye, and nice seeing you again, Trip,” Hestia says, and Fitz turns to Trip.

“You know Hestia?” he asks, and Trip nods.

“I stop to talk to her sometimes,” he says with a shrug, and Fitz is surprised for a moment before he realizes that it’s actually a pretty Trip thing to do.

“Good luck with your record, Trip,” Hestia says, and then turns back to her fire with a smile.

“Thanks. All right, let’s go. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, I’m feeling loose and limber. It’s gonna be a good day,” Trip says, and Skye rolls her eyes. Fitz catches Jemma’s eye as she laughs, smiles at her, and at Trip and Skye, and for the first times in days, he stops worrying about the prophecy and what it may or may not mean and follows the others toward the rock wall.

—————

The last month or so of the summer session passes pretty quickly. Even with his and Jemma’s daily training with May, it’s surprisingly easy to put the prophecy out of his mind. Once Coulson and Chiron knew that May had told them, he doesn’t have to talk about it nearly as often, and as Chiron had pointed out, it’s more than a year until either of their sixteenth birthdays; beyond attending training, there’s not much they can do until they know more.

Ward asks Skye to go to the July 4th fireworks show with him, which she and Jemma seem really excited about. Fitz doesn’t really understand their excitement, even after Trip tries to explain it. He has to help set up for the show, but afterwards he sits with Trip, Anne and Jemma. Coulson and May stop to talk to them for a little while, and Fitz is glad to see that the two of them don’t seem to be fighting anymore.

By the early part of August, camp is starting to empty out pretty quickly.  Coulson says that a decade ago, before everything happened with the Avengers and Kronos, there were a lot more monsters out in the mortal world and a lot more kids staying at camp over the summer. But, with fewer monsters escaping Tartarus on a regular basis, most kids now choose to spend the school year at home with their families. The kids who stay are usually the ones who don’t have much of a choice

Fitz is sitting on his bed in the Hephaestus cabin, watching Anne pack up her stuff. It’s the last day of the summer session, and all the rest of their siblings are gone, already home or up on Half Blood Hill waiting to catch a ride from their families or into the city with Argus in one of the camp’s vans.

“It’ll be nice to have someone to look after the cabin over the summer. If any new kids get claimed over the school year, you’re in charge of making sure they find a bed and get settled in and everything,” Anne says as she zips up her suitcase, and Fitz nods. She looks around the cabin, then nods and lets out a long breath, “I guess I’ll see you next summer then.”

“Do you need help carrying your bags?”

“No, I think I’ve got them. Take care, Fitz.”

“You too,” he says, and Anne disappears out the door with a smile. Fitz sits on his bed for a little while, then heads to lunch.

The camp feels empty, a feeling that’s driven home when he reaches the dining pavillion. He supposes that part of it is that usually, the whole camp is comfortably crowded around the tables, but now there’s only a few people at each table, if that. May and Coulson are sitting at the Hermes table, and Garrett and Ward are at that the Ares table, along with Raina, Aphrodite cabin’s head counselor. Fitz remembers Skye complaining about the fact that she won’t get the cabin to herself like Fitz or Jemma, who is sitting with Skye and Trip at the unclaimed table; Trip’s leaving tomorrow to go back to his mom’s, but he says he’ll be back in time for Fitz’s birthday.

There’s a few other people scattered around the various tables, most of whom Fitz knows only by name, and lunch is a much more subdued affair than usual, and so is dinner. Afterwards, he wanders back to his cabin, is surprised when he sees Hestia sitting in the middle of the floor near his bed. They’ve made kind of a habit of talking before he goes to bed, at least every few days. If he’s sleeping in the cabin, he’ll meet her at the main fire, and if he’s out in the strawberry fields, she’ll come out to him, with the miniature flame that seems to follow her everywhere. She’s never come into the Hephaestus cabin before though, although he supposes that’s just because the cabin has never been empty before. The tiny fire burns in the middle of the floor in front of her, and Fitz sits down across from her.

“The camp feels kind of strange, with everybody gone,” he says, and Hestia smiles.

“You’ll get used to it, after a while. And most of your friends are still here.”

“Yeah,” says Fitz, nodding, staring down at the little fire in front of him, grazing it with the fingertips of one hand.

“You should write your mother a letter.”

“You see me every couple of days, what would I write in a letter?” he asks, not looking up from the fire.

“I’m flattered, Leopold, but you know that’s not what I meant.”

“She- I mean, I just left. I wrote a bad note and I just left. She probably doesn’t-”

“She misses you. Every day.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s sort of my job to know. And what’s more, you know it, too, whatever you try to tell yourself.” Fitz can’t think of anything to say in return, so he keeps silent. “What do you think of, Leopold, when you think of home?”

_Jemma. My mum_. He thinks immediately, even though the two of them have never met, even though his mum doesn’t even know anything about Jemma, although he’s told Jemma just about everything about his mum.

“My mum,” he says, not wanting to say Jemma’s name for some reason, although he suspects from the smile on Hestia’s face that she already knows without him saying anything.

“Then you should write her a letter. Tell her you’re safe, and that you’ve found answers. About your friends. Don’t you think she’d want to know about Jemma?” Fitz nods, letting a flame jump from the fire onto his finger and then up his arm. “I like Jemma very much, you know.”

Fitz blushes, though he’s again not sure why. Jemma’s gotten into the habit of talking to Hestia while she waits for him to finish up at the forge before their training session with May, and sometimes she’ll come and talk with them before bed.

“I do, too,” he says, leaning a little closer to the fire, even though the heat doesn’t actually bother him and so there’s no way Hestia will buy that the color to his face is because of that.

“Speaking of,” she says, and Fitz turns to see Jemma, standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around a pillow and blanket, half hiding her face behind them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were talking,” Jemma says, but Hestia smiles at her, standing.

“I was just leaving. You two should get some sleep.” Fitz turns to Jemma for a second, and when he looks back, Hestia is gone, all that’s left of her presence a last curl of smoke from the fire.

“I was thinking,” Jemma starts, taking a few steps into the cabin, “Since all of your siblings are gone, as well as all of mine, I thought, well, I thought we might,” she fumbles, then holds up her pillow and blanket. Fitz figures out what she means and nods.

“I’ve just got to change into my pajamas. You can get comfortable, if you want,” he says, grabbing his pajamas from the bag under his bed and retreating to one of the small back rooms to change. When he comes back out, Jemma is curled up underneath his blanket and hers, already half asleep. He crawls in next to her, closing his eyes and dimming the fire at the end of the room with a long breath out as she wiggles closer to him.

“Good night, Fitz.”

“Night, Jem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end of summer! There’s never any specific date given for the end of the summer session, at least I don’t think, but it usually seems to end before Percy’s birthday, which is literally the day before Fitz’s, because the only way that Leopold Fitz could be anymore Percy Jackson is if he literally was Percy Jackson himself.
> 
> I’m not going to sugar coat it, this chapter is pretty much a filler chapter. There are important things in here sure, but it’s pretty much filler. Raina got a little bit more of an introduction though! She was mentioned in a previous chapter, but it was pretty much just her name and a vague implication that she was Skye’s sibling, so here’s a tiny bit more about her. She’ll show up throughout the fic.
> 
> There will probably be two or three chapters covering the nine months between summer sessions, probably closer to three than two. The stories going to start moving more towards ot5/new ot4 territory and a little bit away from having so much May and Coulson. They’ll still be there, and still be important, absolutely, but I really want to concentrate in the next few chapters on the younger demigods.
> 
> Fitz’s fifteenth birthday in the next chapter, featuring some Fitzsimmons, some Fitzskye, some ot5 and maybe some FitzWard, although that might be pushed to the next chapter. The chapter after that will see a few new fairly important characters being introduced (Fitz, Jemma and Skye all get new siblings, if anybody wants to make a guess on who they are.)


	7. part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Happy birthday, Fitz.”
> 
> “Thanks, Jem.”

When he was really little, he never used to wait up for midnight on his birthday, at least not that he remembers, but since his pyrokinesis showed up, it’s become something of a habit. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to happen, since nothing ever has after his seventh birthday, but Fitz still does it, glancing over at the clock every few minutes until it reads midnight. He sighs, and then jumps slightly when Jemma nudges at his jaw with her nose.

“Gods, Jemma, I thought you were asleep.”

“I knew you’d stay up. Plus, I wanted to be the first person to wish you happy birthday.”

“You thought someone was going to beat you to it in the morning?” he asks, laughing softly, and she pokes him in the side in retaliation.

“Happy birthday, Fitz.”

“Thanks, Jem.”

————

May gives them the day off, and it’s one of the best birthday presents he’s ever received. Skye insists on dragging him and Jemma down to the beach to celebrate.

“Stop complaining. If Trip were here he’d be dragging you over to the rock wall, and it is a freaking miracle that May isn’t making you spend seven hours in the arena. This is both figuratively a trip to the beach compared to that and also a literal trip to the beach.”

“I think I’ll complain about whatever I please on my birthday,” Fitz says back, and Jemma smiles.

“As opposed to all the other days of the year, when you never complain about anything,” she says, and Fitz sticks his tongue out at her.

“Like you’re oh-so-excited to be heading to the beach.”

“I’m excited to be spending time with my friends.”

Fitz grumbles a little more, but it’s actually not that bad. They sit at the edge of where the grass gives away to the beach, and it’s not like he’s really bothered by the August sun; even if the camp borders weren’t regulating the weather, it takes a lot more than a little sunshine for him to overheat. He’s drifting off, listening to Jemma and Skye talk about something he’s not really paying attention to, when he registers May calling his name and twists to look at her without getting up.

“You’ve got a letter.” His heart starts to race. “From your mother.” He sits up, and Jemma does the same next to him. Fitz glances over, and she nods at him emphatically, like she’s telling him to hurry, and he nods back once before scrambling to his feet.

He forces himself to jog over to May, rather than sprint like he wants, but once he’s got the actual envelope in his hands, he’s frozen, staring down at it.

“Go,” May says, and he looks up, “Jemma and I will make sure nobody bothers you for a while.”

Fitz jogs towards the Hephaestus cabin; it’s not the best place to hide, but he doesn’t need to hide so much as he just needs a place to be alone. He sits on his bed for a long time, back pressed against the wall, staring down at the letter before he manages to get his hands to cooperate long enough to pull it open.

_I miss you, Leopold._

He manages that first line, and then the shaking in his hands gets so bad he can’t continue reading until he forces himself to take a couple deep breaths.

_I miss you, but I’m glad to know you’re safe, and that you’re happy. You are happy, yes? You sounded happy in your letter, at camp, with Jemma and your other friends. I’ll have to meet this Jemma some day. The way you talk about her makes her sound like a rather remarkable young woman. And the rest of your friends, of course._

_I did know who your father was, what he was, before you were born. Chiron may have explained to you that there are some mortals who can see through the Mist, which is how I caught your father’s eye in the first place. I’ve never been very handy, not like you. That you got from him._

_I always tried to hide the fact that I could see the monsters from you, because I didn’t want you to worry, but I knew you always suspected I knew more than I was telling you. Maybe I should have told you about your father when your powers surfaced, but… Hephaestus had made it clear that once you knew what you were, who he was, the monster attacks would increase and I’d have very little choice except to send you to camp._

_I was selfish, I suppose, Leopold, and I’m sorry. I knew I was going to lose you someday, and I wanted to put that off for as long as possible. I’m glad that you’ve finally gotten the answers you needed._

There are places where the ink is smeared in small circles, and Fitz has to rub at his own eyes when he realizes they’re tear marks.

_I love you, and I miss you, and I hope for the best for you until I can see you again. Be safe, and write me again, Leopold._

_Love,_

_Mum_

_P.S. I don’t know when this letter will reach you exactly, but I think it will be sometime around your birthday. Happy fifteenth, Leopold. I love you._

“Good letter crying or bad letter crying?” asks Skye from the doorway, and Fitz looks up to see her leaning against the doorway. He realizes that he’s been sitting on his bed, staring at the letter and re-reading, for a long time; Skye crosses the cabin to sit next to him, leaning back and glancing over at the letter in his lap.

“From your mom?”

Fitz nods, “I wrote her a little while ago, right after everybody went home.”

“What’s she say?”

“Basic stuff, I guess. That she loves me, and that she misses me. She’s glad I’m safe, and happy. That you guys make me happy. She wants to meet you all someday.”

“From everything you’ve said about her, she sounds pretty cool. I’d like to meet her too.”

“Good. Maybe after, um, I mean, maybe when we’re older, have more training, we can go. Meet Jemma’s parents too.”

“Yeah,” says Skye, then she’s quiet for a long time before she speaks again. “Fitz?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to tell us eventually, right? Whatever’s going on with you and Jemma and special training sessions with May and secret meetings with Chiron in the Big House?”

“How do you-?”

“Because I’m not stupid. I’m not super freaky genius smart like you or Jemma, but I’m not stupid, and neither is Trip. We know something is up.”

“Skye, we weren’t trying to-”

“No, listen, I know you’ve been told to keep whatever it is a secret for whatever reason, and I’m not saying it’s fine or whatever, but I trust you two. You’ll tell us eventually though, what’s going on? When you need our help?”

Fitz nods, “It’s not that we want to- It’s not that we don’t- we just can’t. We just can’t tell you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Secrets and plots and heroes, I get it. Just, you know we’re on your side, right? Trip and I, and Ward,” she says, then looks like she’s considering something. “You like Ward, yeah?”

He’s surprised by the question. “Why?”

Skye shrugs, “He was worried, the other day, that you didn’t like him.”

Fitz gives a shrug of his own, “I like him just fine,” he says, hesitating for a second when he remembers _where you belong_ , but Ward had seemed genuinely apologetic about that. “I just don’t know him very well. He’s sort of quiet.”

“Tell me about it,” says Skye, rolling her eyes.

“Plus, you like him, right, and that’s what really matters.” Skye nods, blushing a little. Fitz is about to tease her some more when someone knocks on the doorframe and they both turn to see Coulson standing in the doorway.

“Trip’s back, and he’s got pizza.”

“Real pizza?”

“A small mountain of cheesy, greasy goodness, to use his words,” Coulson says with a smile. “He needs help carrying it.”

————–

It is a small mountain, even after Trip empties a couple boxes into the fire as a sacrifice to the gods, and it takes four of them to carry it down to the beach, where Skye insists they eat.

“You cut into my beach time earlier,” she says by way of explanation, and Fitz shakes his head in disbelief.

“You live at a camp with a private beach and almost permanently nice weather. That means pretty much unlimited beach time.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s summer, there’s like twelve people in camp, and we’ve got a ginormous pile of pizza. We’re eating on the beach.” Fitz knows this isn’t an argument that he’s going to win, and they’ve already carried all the pizza down there; it seems a shame to carry them anywhere else instead of just sitting down to eat them.

The rest of the campers drift down to grab pizza, spreading out across the little section of beach close to the boxes. Most of them are too busy eating the first non-camp food they’ve gotten in months to talk much, but Trip entertains them with stories from his brief stay at home. Garrett and Ward are the last to arrive; Ward accepts a plate from Skye with a smile, and Garrett wanders over to the boxes near Fitz.

“Hey, happy birthday, kid,” he says after a few seconds, glancing up from his browsing.

Fitz looks at him strangely, “How did you know it was my birthday?”

For a moment, something that looks strangely like panic crosses Garrett’s face, before it’s replaced by his usual easy smile.

“It’s a small camp, you know, and it got even smaller once summer was over. Somebody probably mentioned it. In fact, Ward probably told me. Ward!” he calls, and his brother looks up from where he’s talking to Skye, “Did you mention something about it being Fitz’s birthday today? I can’t remember who I heard it from.”

“Uh, yeah. Skye mentioned something, and I probably repeated it.”

“Happy birthday, Fitz,” says Raina, from where she’s sitting on the other side of Skye, “Your fifteenth?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he replies, then turns to Garrett, who is loading up his plate, “Uh, thanks.”

“No problem, kid. We got anything to drink?” he asks, turning to Trip.

“Oh, yeah,” Trip says, retrieving one of the goblets they’d brought down from the dining pavillion, “Sorry. And that reminds me, Fitz, I got you a present.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a huge box. “For Jemma too, I suppose, though I’m planning on getting her one for her birthday in a few weeks too. Don’t drink it all in one night.”

Fitz tugs the box towards him, and gasps when it’s close enough for him to figure out what it is.

“Tea. It’s tea, Jemma.”

“Real tea?” she says, and Coulson laughs from where he’s sitting behind them.

“The kitchen harpies are going to be mad if we keep insinuating that the stuff they make isn’t real.”

“The stuff in the goblets is fine, but it’s just not the same,” Jemma replies before turning to Fitz, “How quickly can you build a working kettle?”

“A couple hours, at most. If I do it tonight, we could have real tea in the morning.”

Trip laughs, “I didn’t know what kind you guys liked, so I just got as many different kinds as I could. Biggest box they had, too. And, for those of us not inclined to drinking hot beverages in the middle of August,” he says, and pulls a couple twelve packs of Coke out of his bag.

“Antoine Triplett, you are a true hero,” Skye says, reaching over to snag one of the boxes, “I’m putting in a recommendation to hang you among the stars.”

“How did you possibly fit all that in your bag?” Jemma asks, tilting her head to consider the black gym bag in front of Trip. He shrugs with a grin.

“Might have borrowed one of the bottomless bags from Hermes on my way out of camp.”

“So that’s where that went,” Coulson says, and Trip’s grin grew.

“I figured, since I was bringing back presents…” he trails off, holding out a can to Coulson, who rolls his eyes but takes it. The older camper pops the tab and takes a long drink ending in a sigh.

“Gods, that’s good. You’re forgiven.“ Trip laughs and offers a can to May, who takes it with a smile.

People start to drift back to the cabins, calling out thanks to Trip for the food. Fitz leans back with a groan, and Trip laughs.

“Eat too much pizza, gearhead?” he asks, and Fitz sticks his tongue out, not bothering to turn his head.

“Shut up, sunshine,” he replies, to more laughter.

“You should be nice to me, I bought you tea. I’ll put it in the sound where it belongs.”

“Wrong body of water,” Jemma says from where she’s curled up against Fitz’s side.

“I think the Sons of Liberty would appreciate the sentiment,” Coulson says from behind them, laughing. Fitz forces himself to sit up, looking down at Jemma.

“Speaking of tea, I should go get to work on that kettle if you want tea in the morning.”

“I do.”

“You want to come with?”

“I think I’m going to stay and watch the sunset, unless you need me.”

“No, I think I’ll be able to handle it,” he says, grabbing the box of tea to haul it up to his cabin, “Thanks for the present, and the pizza, Trip.”

“Happy birthday, man.”

Fitz thinks about heading up to the forge to work, but most of what he needed to do, he could do with his hands and his own heat and fire. He works silently until he hears the cabin door open, looks up to see Jemma in her pajamas. Rubbing at his eyes, he realizes just how long he’s been working.

“I’ve just got to finish the wiring, then I’m done,” he says as Jemma curls up on his bed, and she nods.  Twisting the last few bits together, Fitz flips the improvised switch and smiles as the kettle warms underneath his hands.

“Tea in the morning,” he says, ducking into one of the small backrooms after scooping his pajamas off the floor, “Unless it, uh, explodes.”

“Are the chances of that high?” Jemma asks as he emerges, tugging his shirt over his head.

“Not really. I’m pretty good at this, you know.”

“Yes, I do. Did you have a good birthday?”

“Yeah, it was great, Jem.”

“I didn’t get you a present.”

“That’s alright.”

“I didn’t get you one last year either.”

“We were living pretty cheaply at this point last year. Plus, you let me walk around picking through the trash, instead of making me go to the library. Not that I always disliked going to the library. But that was nice.”

“Next year, I’m getting you a real present.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Nope. I’m making you a promise. This time next year, you are going to have a real, honest to gods present from me.”

“Looking forward to it,” Fitz says, laughing a little at her insistence.

They’re quiet for a while before Jemma asks, “The letter from your mum was good?”

“Yeah. It was,” he swallows hard, “It was good. To hear from her. She wants me to write again. Wants to meet you.”

“I’d like to meet her, too. She sounds wonderful.”

“She is,” he sighs, “Skye knows that something’s up. Trip, too, or at least that’s what it sounded like. I told it wasn’t because we wanted to hide anything from her, it was just that we-”

“Yeah. She was upset?”

“Not really. She just wanted to make sure we’re going to tell her if, well, if something happens, and we need her.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah.”

“You had a good birthday?” she asks, and he sighs again.

“I swear, Jemma, it was great.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Night, Jem.”

“Happy birthday, Fitz.”

——————

Fitz looks up from his work when he realizes that he’s not imagining the presence at the entrance to the forge. Ward’s standing there, holding his spear and looking nervous, which is kind of disconcerting in a person of his size.

“Did you need something, Ward?” Fitz asks, considering calling him by his first name but deciding against it. He’s never heard anyone call him anything but his last name, not even Garrett or his other siblings.

“Not if, uh, I mean, you look like you’re working on something,” he says, shifting his spear from hand to hand. When he does, Fitz can see that there’s a problem near the top of the shaft, and he reaches to pull a rag over his project, blushing slightly.

“No. It’s not- It’s not anything that needs to be finished now. I’ve got a couple days to finish it.”

“Something for Jemma’s birthday?” Ward asks, and Fitz looks up in surprise.

“Yeah. How’d you know when her birthday is?”

Ward shrugs, “Skye must have said something. Anyway, you mind looking at this?” he asks, holding out the spear. It’s bent sharply, almost twisted, at the top of the shaft, just below the pointed tip. “I can do most of the minor repairs, but this is a bit beyond me. And I figured, with you being Hephaestus’s favored son and all, you were probably the one to ask.”

Fitz blushes again at the description, taking the spear, “Yeah, I think- What did you even do to put it in this state?”

“Garrett can get a little intense sometimes, when we’re training. It’s not the first time he’s done some damage to it.” Fitz can hardly believe that one sixteen year old guy with a spear could do this much damage to something that is pure celestial bronze, and a gift from a god at that, but he’s seen for himself just how hard Garrett and Ward work in their training session. He turns on some of the equipment he’ll need; he could probably get the bronze hot enough to bend without it, but there’s no way he’s strong enough to do the actual bending himself.

Ward studies him as he works, and Fitz realizes he’s staring at his necklace, which has slipped out of his collar. He remembers him saying something about it to Mr. D, when he had gotten to camp with Jemma, Skye and Mike, and tucks it back into his shirt, partially to hide it and partially because he doesn’t want it catching on anything as he works.

“Where did you guys get those anyway?” Ward asks, as Fitz starts to work on straightening out the spear.

“From a hellhound. I thought you recognized it.”

“Well, yeah, but hellhounds aren’t all that common in the mortal world, and they’re not at all easy to kill. You and Jemma killed one?”

Fitz nods, “It was the first monster we killed together.”

“How long were you two out there together before you got to camp?”

“About a year.”

“You killed a hellhound when you were thirteen? Was it a small one?”

“It was the size of a car. Do they get bigger than that?”

Ward stares for a long time before shaking his head with a smile, “And the necklaces were spoils of war?” he asks, and Fitz nods, concentrating on his work. They make small talk when Fitz isn’t making too much noise to be heard, and he finishes in a half hour. Ward takes his weapon back with a smile and claps Fitz on the back.

“Knew I could count on you. Thanks.”

“Any time,” Fitz says, shrugging but returning the other boy’s smile.

Ward nods good-bye, but stops in the entrance to the forge, calling Fitz’s name to get his attention.

“I really am sorry about what I said that morning. About the forge being where you belong. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I was just- you’re obviously at home here, but you do alright for yourself out in the real world too. You wouldn’t have that necklace if you didn’t.”

“Thanks,” Fitz mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck, and Ward nods again and then disappears, probably going to look for either Garrett or Skye. Fitz stares at the place he was standing for a few seconds, then turns back to working on Jemma’s present.

————

Trip comes back for Jemma’s birthday after spending another little stretch of time at his mom’s, and brings another huge box of tea back for her as promised. May gets her a couple new books that she’d picked up in New York last time she went to the city, and Jemma’s delight over both presents makes Fitz nervous about giving her his. He finally works up the courage at the very end of the day, telling himself it’s just because he hadn’t wanted to give it to her in front of people.

She looks up from where she’s sitting on his bed leafing through one of her new books when he says her name, and her eyes immediately fall to the little box he’s holding out to her. He waits next to her silently as she unwraps it, staring at his hands until he hears her gasp.

“Oh, Fitz, it’s beautiful,” she says, pulling the little owl pendant out of the box.

He smiles, “You like it?”

“Of course I do. You made this?”

Fitz nods, “Yeah. I figured you could wear it on your necklace, and you might like something that had to do with your mum, and, um, I designed the latch so you can put it on your necklace but it shouldn’t ever come off unless you take it off, and I know it’s probably not as good as your other presents-”

He’s only able to recognize he’s rambling when Jemma stretches up to press a kiss against his cheek.

“It’s amazing, Fitz, really. My favorite present,” she pauses for a second, considering him, before pressing another kiss to his cheek, “You’re my favorite.”

Fitz blushes, “You’re my favorite, too.”

Jemma beams, then studies the little pendant as she hooks it onto her necklace next to the hellhound tooth, “Are those real diamonds?” she asks, running one finger over the gems Fitz had used for the eyes.

“You can find pretty much anything if you dig through the junk drawers in here long enough,” he replies, and Jemma laughs, leaning her head against his shoulder, “You ready for bed?”

“I’m going to stay up and read, if that’s alright. I can go back to my cabin, if you want to go to sleep though.”

“No, I can stay up. I want to fiddle with the kettle anyway.”

“No explosions.”

“No explosions.”

Fitz retrieves the kettle as Jemma opens her book, reworking some of the wiring while she reads. He only looks up from his project when he feels her head drop down against his shoulder, and he realizes she’s drifted off. It takes a little maneuvering to get both the kettle and her book down onto the floor and then arrange the two of them comfortably, but eventually Jemma is curled up next to him and Fitz concentrates on dimming the fire at the end of the cabin that is providing most of the light.

“Happy birthday, Jem,” he whispers, before settling himself more comfortably next to her and closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fitz’s birthday is literally the day after Percy’s and frankly I’m offended that the universe would do something like this to me.
> 
> Next chapter we meet three new characters, and, I don’t know, something else might happen. Who knows? Certainly not me. Also, I thought of a FZZT equivalent finally, which may or may not actually happen. Again, who knows. Just concentrate on how quickly I got this update done! Aren’t you all proud of me?
> 
> I wanted to get this posted before I left for the weekend, so I might come back and edit this? If it’s major things, I’ll be sure to let everyone know.
> 
> I would prepare yourselves for a lot of American Revolution jokes between Trip&Coulson and Fitzsimmons. I would just prepare yourselves for those.


	8. part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz lands hard on his back and rolls over with a groan, feeling the little roots May had used to upend him twist around his ankles for a moment before retreating into the ground.

Fitz lands hard on his back and rolls over with a groan, feeling the little roots May had used to upend him twist around his ankles for a moment before retreating into the ground. There’s a scorched mark in the dirt where his flaming left arm had slammed into the ground, and he stares at it for a few seconds before May’s hand appears in his vision and she helps him to his feet.

“That was better,” she says, stooping to retrieve his sword to hand back to him. Fitz takes it with a nod and a smile that’s probably closer to a grimace; that’s his fifth hard landing in the last hour or so, and his muscles are starting to seriously protest the treatment.

He’d always felt more comfortable fighting with his flames than with his sword and was pretty sure he always would, but the months of training with Jemma and May meant he felt much more comfortable with Pyrrhos. May had decided he was comfortable enough to start working on using his powers and his weapon at the same time, and they’d been working on it for a few weeks now with mixed results. Fitz had found that pushing the fire up from his right hand along the sword meant that he was far more aware of where his blade was and how it was moving, but he still had a long way to go when it came to using Pyrrhos with one hand and his flames in the other. That usually ended with the flat of May’s blade against his armor and a quick crash into the ground, or tiny roots and vines wrapped around his feet and an equally hard trip down to the dirt.

“I think that’s probably enough for today,” May says, and Fitz grits his teeth against an embarrassing noise of gratitude. His back already feels better just knowing it can have the rest of the day off, and more of the soreness eases when Jemma comes over from her spot leaning against the arena wall to hand him half a square of ambrosia, which he downs in two bites. She opens her mouth to scold him for eating too fast but is interrupted by Trip, who jogs over from the entrance to the ring with a smile on his face.

“Coulson says Mike and Ace are a few minutes out, thinks we should go welcome them back up at Peggy’s tree.”

“Anyone with them?” May asks, and Trip nods.

“Coulson said he thought there were at least two, but his binoculars are only so good.”

Mike had left about three weeks ago to go searching for new demigods to bring back to camp, and his younger brother Ace had accompanied him for his first trip away from Camp Half-Blood; a satyr’s first trip was always a big deal, and the Peterson brothers popularity with the campers meant that everyone had been excited to see them off, and were even more excited to see them returning, especially if they’d found demigods. No one new had come to camp since Fitz, Jemma and Skye had arrived early in the summer, more than seven months ago.

A small crowd had gathered around the big pine at the top of Half-Blood Hill, and the four of them arrived just in time to see Mike and Ace make the final climb, pan pipes out and trailed by three kids, two boys and a girl, none of whom look older than fourteen, if that.

“Nice to see you could make it back without attracting an escort of monsters this time, Mike,” Trip says as the five of them cross the border into camp, “Probably Ace’s doing.”

“You’re very funny, Antoine. Probably the funniest guy I know,” Mike responds, slipping his pipes into the pocket of his hoodie, “Meet Seth, Callie and Donnie. Guys, this is camp. Feel free to take a couple seconds to be amazed, then Ace and I will take you down to the Big House for orientation before dinner.”

Fitz isn’t sure any of the kids are listening, too busy staring down at camp. After a few minutes, the two satyrs lead them down the hill to talk to Chiron, and the crowd disperses, calling out congratulations to Ace on his successful mission. Most of them head down to the dining pavilion, although it’s a little early for dinner. Nobody wants to miss their first chance to get a real look at the new kids. Mike joins Fitz and the others at the unclaimed table after walking Ace to report on their trip to the Council of Cloven Elders.

“Isn’t it kind of mean, to make Ace basically do the paperwork for your mission?” Skye teases, and Mike just shrugs.

“He’s going to have to deal with them eventually. The practice will be good for him.”

“So what’s the scoop on the new kids? Figured out who will claim them yet?”

Another shrug, “They’re good kids, smart, especially the younger guy, Donnie. The older two, Seth and Callie, have been friends for a while, met a couple years ago in a class for kids with dyslexia. When Donnie moved to their school, Seth kind of took him under his wing. They’re pretty close, figured out that the weird things they’d been dealing with were something they had in common.”  
    “You found them at school?”

Mike nods, “Ace went in undercover, figured out that they were demigods in about two days once he got himself into the dyslexia class. Spent about a day convincing them to come with us, though it wasn’t particularly hard, especially not in Donnie’s case. They were all pretty excited about coming.”

“Fitz will probably have to finally give up the unclaimed table, since there are actual unclaimed kids now and he’s been claimed by by not one but two Olympians,” says Ward, earning a laugh from the rest of the table while Fitz blushes.

“Coulson’s a soft heart. Without his siblings here, I bet he lets them sit at the Hermes table with him and May for the week or so until they’re claimed,” Mike says.

“It’s not like anyone is really respects the usual seating chart right now anyway, with so much of the camp gone,” Jemma adds, and Fitz nods in agreement, although his face is still red. He opens his mouth to say something but cuts himself off when he notices the three new arrivals standing at the entrance, Coulson, May and Chiron behind them. Fitz looks down at his food, waiting to see if Coulson or Chiron would say something to the six of them sitting at the unclaimed table, but the older boy says nothing, letting Callie, Seth and Donnie sit with him at the Hermes table, at least for the evening.

There’s a bonfire that night, and Fitz is listening to Trip talk about how glad he is that he’s not on sing along duty when Jemma tugs on his sleeves. He’s turning to see what she wants when he notices the reddish light that has filled the amphitheater and the fact that everyone has gone silent. There’s a glowing red hammer floating above the head of the smaller new boy, who is staring up at it in shock from where he’s standing next to May, Coulson and his friends.

“Hail, Donnie Gill, son of Hephaestus,” says Chiron, and Skye turns to Fitz with a grin.

“Congratulations, big brother.”

———–

Donnie hasn’t stopped talking since they left the bonfire, when Coulson had introduced him to Fitz. He’s following him to the Hephaestus cabin now, tugging his heavy suitcase behind him while Fitz carries his backpack, which feels like it’s full of books. The younger boy is only struck silent when Fitz opens the door to the cabin.

“We get to live here?” he asks, jumping up on one of the beds to inspect the machinery lining the top of the cabin.

“Yeah. There’ll be more people here during the summer, but it’s just the two of us for now. You can take one of the beds near the back, nobody’s claimed those yet. Means you won’t have to move when the rest get back,” Fitz says, dropping Donnie’s backpack onto the bed across from his.

He got ready for bed while the younger boy looked around the building, answering questions when Donnie asked them. Fitz doesn’t want to leave him alone in the cabin on his first night, especially since both his friends are still in Hermes, but he misses Jemma’s presence by his side pretty much immediately as he settles for the night. Still, he’s almost asleep when Donnie says his name and he looks over to see him curled up on his new bed, blanket pulled up to his ears, staring at Fitz with wide eyes.

“Coulson said that you- that you’ve got a power that nobody else in camp has, like a superpower.”

Fitz blushes, but there’s a swell of pride in his chest at the idea that Coulson was bragging about him, at the awe in Donnie’s voice. “It’s not really a superpower.”

“But you do have fire powers, right? You can make it and control it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think that’s a superpower?” Donnie asks, and Fitz can hear excitement breaking through the nervousness in his voice.

“Just wait until you see what some of the other people in camp can do. I won’t seem nearly as impressive then.”

The other boy laughs before lapsing into silence and after a few minutes, Fitz glances over to see that his eyes have closed and his breathing has evened out. He dims the fire slowly, watches the orange glow of it shrink until it disappears, then rolls over, drifting off himself.

———–

That night, for the first time in months, Fitz’s dream changes.

The huge man in the gold armor is still there, but he’s not screaming or laughing, like he usually is. He’s silent, tugging on the chain holding him, which is glowing white hot in the darkness; a long spurt of flame jets from the man’s massive palms, and the links give a heart-wrenching groan that steals Fitz’s breath even in the dream. He can sense just how powerful the armored man is, even before he watches as another flame hits the chain and the links give, just slightly.

Fitz wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder. Donnie is standing next to his bed, looking worried.

“Sorry. I couldn’t get to sleep and you were- you sounded like something was wrong. Plus, um, there’s a girl here,” Donnie says, pointing to where Jemma is standing near the cabin’s door. Fitz sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

“It was just a bad dream, Donnie, but thanks. You should try and get some sleep. The first few days at camp can be kind of crazy, lots of stuff to learn,” Fitz says around a yawn, and Donnie nods, climbing back into his bed and curling up under the blankets facing the wall. Jemma waits a few seconds, leaning against the wall by the door, before crawling in next to Fitz.

“Hestia came and got me. She said you were having a nightmare.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Fitz shook his head, “Not right now. I just want to sleep right now.”

Jemma nods, curling up with her head on his shoulder. Even with her there, he has a hard time falling back asleep, drifting in and out, the sound of the weakening chain being pulled echoing in his head.

He’s exhausted the next morning, something Donnie doesn’t seem to pick up on as he asks questions on their way to breakfast. Eventually, Fitz tells him that Coulson is probably better suited to answer most of them and that there’s orientation stuff he needs to do anyway, so he’ll meet him later and give him a tour of the forge, if he wants it. The younger boy’s face lights up, and he sprints off to find his friends.

During his training session with May and Jemma, he can’t concentrate, and his ankles and back pay the price. He can tell May is disappointed in his effort, and he considers telling her about how badly he slept, about his dream, but he doesn’t want to make excuses, which he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate. Fitz limps off to the forge, hoping that work will distract him and make him feel better, like it usually does. He’s pretty sure May would follow him, except he knows she has class.

Chiron teaches classes for the kids who stay over the school year, but he’d been quick to realize that there wasn’t much he could teach Jemma and Fitz in science, especially not while trying to teach any of the other kids at camp. So he had decided early on to let them have what amounted to a free study period, which they usually spent at the forge working on projects. Lately, Jemma has been working on improving the camp’s supply of Greek fire, and Fitz has been working on creating a better way of storing and using it.

“Maybe if I were able to stabilize it sufficiently, you could create some sort of dispersion device, almost like a fire extinguisher,” Jemma says, and Fitz looks up from the armory sword he’d been working on.

“Huh?”

Jemma shakes her head, “You weren’t listening to me.”

“Sorry. I’m no match for May on a good day, much less today.”

“Maybe if you got yourself a decent weapon you’d have a better chance,” says Garrett, and Fitz and Jemma turn to see him standing in the entrance to the forge, leaning against the wall, Ward hovering behind him. “Can’t believe a son of Hephaestus would use such a mangy looking sword, spike sticking out the side and whatnot.”

Garrett teases everyone, particularly the campers younger than him, and this isn’t at all outside of his normal joking, but it bothers Fitz more than it should for the older boy to give him a hard time about Pyrrhos. He forces himself to keep his eyes on his work, rather than looking at his sword where he’s propped it against the bench behind him, or at the older boy.

“Did you need something, Garrett?” Jemma asks.

“Was wondering if the new kids were up here. Apparently Pops just claimed the new girl-”

“Callie,” Jemma inserts, and Garrett nods.

“And I’m supposed to find her to welcome her to the family. Fitz’s new little brother seemed pretty taken with him, and I thought he and his friends might be up here.”

“They went with Coulson, to finish orientation and figure out their schedules,” Jemma tells him, and Garrett tips a lazy salute before turning to head back towards the rest of camp, Ward giving the two of them a smile before he follows his brother.

Jemma waits for them to disappear before turning to Fitz. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

Fitz rubs at his eyes, shaking his head, “It’s fine. I just- I think I just need to- If Donnie comes by, can you show him around? I can give him a tour tomorrow, I just-”

“Of course,” Jemma says, but catches his elbow as he moves past her, “Come here.” She wraps her arms around Fitz’s neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. He sighs, feeling his muscles relax almost immediately as he wraps his arms around Jemma’s waist in return.

“Thanks, Jem,” he breathes into her hair, and she nods against his chest.

Once they finally release each other, Jemma returns to her project and Fitz exits the forge, heading away from the rest of camp. He walks along the edge of the forest, not close enough to attract any monsters but near enough that he’s pretty sure none of the other campers will be around. Eventually he finds a rock that’s large enough for him to sit on comfortably, and toes off his shoes and socks to examine his ankles, which are ringed in thin bruises from the roots May often uses to pull him off his feet when they spar now. The stiffness and pain that shoot down the long muscles of his back whenever he shifts his shoulders or bends even slightly makes it seem more than likely that there’s significant bruising there as well.

Fitz lets one of his fingers catch before rolling the little flame around each hand, easing the soreness there from gripping his sword or trying to catch himself when May toppled him. An idea occurs to him, and he moves the fire back up to the tip of one finger, carefully tracing along one of the bruises ringing his ankle. Jemma would probably scold him for holding heat near a place that’s bruised and swelling, but the fire licking at his skin almost immediately makes it feel better, and when he pulled his hand away, he’s stunned to see that the bruises have faded almost completely and the swelling is gone.

He transfers the fire over to the other ankle, tracing along it for a moment before he concentrates, letting the flame move from his hand onto his skin, moving it around his ankle with a laugh. Once he’s finished with his legs, Fitz hesitates for a second before stripping off his shirt, not wanting to have to prevent it from burning, then grips one shoulder and spreads flames down his back. The heat eases the stiffness and the pain decreases immensely, and Fitz laughs as he moves the flames across his skin, moving it down the lengths of his arm to cup it in his palms.

“I wondered when you would figure that bit out,” says a familiar voice behind him, and Fitz lets the flames die as he turns toward Hestia, her usual small campfire in front of her, “It’s not perfect, but it’s a bit like your very own version of nectar and ambrosia.”

“It’s better than a heating pad,” Fitz says, slipping down from his rock to sit cross-legged on the opposite side of Hestia’s fire. The goddess studies him for a while, and Fitz tugs at his ear, waiting for her to speak.

“You’re doing well, you know? I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are.”

Fitz scoffs, “Tell that to my back. Or to May.”

“May thinks you’re doing well without my having to tell her anything. You’ve always been good with your flames, a natural, and you’ve made significant improvement with Pyrrhos. You need to trust yourself, Leopold.”

“I do,” he responds quickly, then shrugs, “Since I stopped setting fire to the curtains, at least. This,” he jumps a bit of flame from the campfire up to his hand, “I can count on. It’s everything else I’m worried about.” Hestia remains silent, and Fitz looks over her shoulder at the large trees of the dark forest behind her. He remembers the sound of the chain being pulled, the spurts of fire from the man’s enormous hands.

“I’m scared,” he says, though it’s more breath than actual words. Hestia still hears him, and nods. “That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud.”

“You had another nightmare?” Fitz nods, “The same as usual?”

“Almost. The man in the golden armor was there, pulling on his chains, but he’d heated them up, incredibly hot. I could sense how hot it was, and I could feel it too, in the dream. They were starting to give. Not much, but enough.” The fire in front of him cracks and flares. “When I first started having the dreams, I thought that maybe he was my father, you know, the man in the golden armor.”

“He’s much older than your father.”

“You know who he is?”

“The gods have their suspicions, and I tend to agree with them,” she says, then smiles when Fitz looks at her expectantly, “Names have power, Leopold, especially restorative power. If what you’re saying is true, then I don’t wish to give our enemy any more power than he’s already gathering. We’re going to have to face him sooner or later, and I would much rather have it be later.”

“Is that why you call me Leopold? Because names have power?”

Hestia smiles, the fire in her eyes burning brighter, “It’s mostly because you let me get away with it. But yes, there is power in the name your mother gave you, when you are connected to your mother in the way that you are. There’s love in it, and home, and those are powerful forces.”

“Even in a name like Leopold,” Fitz says, and Hestia laughs, tilting her head to consider him.

“It’s alright that you’re scared.”

“What kind of hero is scared before anything even happens? What kind of hero is scared by the idea of maybe having to do something?”

“Almost all of them.”

Fitz is silent for a long time, watching the fire in front of him, before he forces himself to his feet, groaning at the lingering stiffness in his back.

“I should go back. I promised to show Donnie around the forge and then kind of bailed on him,” he sighs, “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a big brother.”

Hestia smiles, “I think you’re capable of much more than you think you are, Leopold.”

Fitz blushes and nods, waving good-bye as he turns back towards the camp buildings. He heads towards the forge, figuring that Donnie might still be there, and it’s the best place to start his search. His guess proves good when he gets there, where Donnie is inspecting one of the larger anvils and talking very quickly to Jemma and his friend, Seth, but he turns his attention to Fitz when he notices him standing in the doorway.

“Fitz! Jemma was showing us around, she said you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow. This is my friend Seth, I thought he might want to come look at stuff. He hasn’t been claimed yet, but Coulson says it shouldn’t take very long, especially since Callie- that’s our other friend- she just got claimed a little bit ago, and-” Donnie keeps talking, rapid fire, as Fitz looks over his shoulder at Jemma, who is trying not to smile.

“You want to take a crack at working on some stuff? I can show how most of this works, if you want,” he says, after letting Donnie carry on for a while longer. He figures the only way to get the younger boy to stop his rapid stream of words for any amount of time is to distract him with something shiny, for lack of a better term. It works, as he nods enthusiastically as Fitz leads him over to the store of weapons that need repairing.

—————

“Seth’s mom still hasn’t claimed him,” Donnie says, and Fitz looks up from his food. They’d had an early session with May that morning, and Jemma had stayed behind to work for a little while longer; he’d tried to wait, but she’d told him to go ahead when his stomach had rumbled audibly. He hasn’t sat at the Hephaestus cabin since the first day after he’d been claimed, but no one else was up this early, and he’d felt bad about Donnie eating alone this morning; it was strange to see him without Seth and Callie, especially since nobody really kept to their tables outside of the summer.

“It can take a long time, sometimes.”

“Coulson said that it would take a couple of weeks. It’s been more than three. And Callie and I were claimed within a day.”

“Dad didn’t claim me for a month,” he says, and he can feel Donnie’s surprise without looking up from his food, “Waited until I’d shown off my pyrokinesis to the whole camp on accident. Maybe his mom is just waiting for… something, you know. One of the older campers, Coulson or Garrett, they might have a better idea.”

Donnie’s face lights up at that, “You mean Seth might have powers like yours?”

“Um, well, things like mine are really rare, but I guess, maybe. Again, one of the older kids might have a better idea,” Fitz says, and Donnie shovels the last few forkfuls of his breakfast into his mouth before standing.

“Garrett should be up training, right?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer before taking off, presumably towards the arena.

Fitz wishes he would talk to Coulson instead, or May, but just then the girl herself sits down opposite him with her plate of food.

“You could tell him that his friend’s mother is Aphrodite, though I’m not sure it would make either of them feel better to know it while he’s still unclaimed.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been here a long time. For most people, it’s not that hard if you pay attention. Aphrodite is never good about claiming her sons.”

Fitz considers this for a few moments.

“Did you know about me? Who my dad was?”

She nods, “After about three days. You were pretty easy, after seeing you work at the forge, and all the little gadgets you had in your bag when you got here.”

“Was Jemma more difficult? Because she doesn’t look like her siblings?”

May rolls her eyes, “Anyone who knows anything about it and talks to Jemma Simmons for more than a few minutes can tell she’s a daughter of Athena. I actually need to talk to the two of you about something.”

“What?”

“We should wait until she gets here. She went back to her cabin to change after we got done,” she says, picking at her food before looking up to study him. Fitz shifts under the scrutiny. “Your powers are different than mine, you know.”

“Well, mine involves a lot more fire, that’s for sure,” he replies, but May shakes her head.

“It’s more than that. The things my siblings and I can do, it’s all outside of us, separate. But it’s not like that for you. For you, your fire is a part of you. And I’ve seen you fight with it when you don’t have your sword, when you’re not thinking about it so much, and you’re not nearly as frustrated, not nearly as nervous. But as soon as you step into training with your sword, you start to overthink, and you lose the ease you have with your fire because you’re trying so hard.”

Fitz stays silent, waiting for May to make her point.

She sighs, “I know you’re a genius, but you’ve got to stop thinking so much and just get your hands dirty.”

“It’s not- I’m not-” He rubs at his face. “I’m an engineer, not a soldier. If the Fates or whoever really picked me for this, they did a poor job of it.”

May’s expression is stormy, and Fitz almost takes it back, or explains himself better, but before either of them can speak, Jemma slides onto the bench next to him, stealing a piece of bacon off his plate.

“Hey.”

“Hush,” she says, grabbing her own plate, “May has something she needs to talk to us about.”

“Yeah, she told me,” he answers, and they both turn to look at the older girl, who smiles at them.

“We’ve got a quest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if we all pretended I posted this like two weeks ago and I actually got a chapter done and published in May, which was a long, complicated month for me? Updates should be more regular now, but I had plans change on me right at the beginning of summer and it had a pretty big effect on how much I was able to write.
> 
> I promise this is the last chapter in which people just talk and things are vaguely and poorly foreshadowed. The next 2-3 chapters deal with the story’s FZZT equivalent, and then I’m almost entirely certain that we’ll jump head first into the main, prophecy-centric plot.
> 
> I’m out of town for the next few days (I’m going to Washington, D.C.) with limited internet access, but I’ll be around at least a little occasionally.


	9. i was meant to be a warrior (i'm on my knees)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ll figure it out together, Jem.”

They’d ended up tangling with some sort of huge water snake in San Antonio that had been causing trouble along the River Walk; four days of floating up and down the water in various boats had ended with May turning the monster into a long line of wet dust, but not before it had done its fair share of damage to the three of them. The snake had managed to pull the older girl out of the boat with its tail and then flip the craft itself, with Fitz and Jemma still on board, before May got her sword into it.

For a terrifying few seconds, he hadn’t been able to find Jemma or the surface in the murky water, until a hand had grabbed his and he’d kicked in one direction, figuring that even if he found the bottom of the river he’d still have time to get back above the water. They’d broken the surface underneath the upside down boat the first time and had to re-submerge, still holding hands, coming up again just in time to see May push off the concrete bank of the river and drive her sword through the snake.

He and Jemma had stayed close to each other since then, even more than usual, and Fitz can feel her shoulder brushing his as they make their way up Half-Blood Hill towards Peggy’s tree; it sends fuzzy flares of pain up the ribs he’d smashed against the side of the boat, but he’s been trying not to complain much after the initial few minutes they’d spent besides the river, attempting to catch their breaths and assess the damage, especially since both of the girls were in worse shape than him to start with and without the newly discovered healing benefits his powers gave him. They’d both had about as much nectar and ambrosia as a demigod could stand, and May had stopped limping at least, but neither of them was at full strength at the moment.

It takes him a few seconds through his exhaustion to realize May has tensed next to him, his hand dropping to Pyrrhos’s scabbard as he hears Jemma draw her knives.

“What?” she asks, and May shakes her head for quiet. Fitz draws his sword as she glances around, then nods toward the pine tree at the top of the hill.

“You two go, get across the border. Go!” she says with force when neither of them move.

“We’re not leaving you down here, you can barely stand,” Jemma protests, and Fitz nods next to her. May shakes her head, looking fierce despite the fact that she’s clearly favoring her left side as she raises her sword.

“Get across the border now, I’ll be right behind you. I just need to figure out-” she starts, then spins to the side as something huge and dark emerges from the woods to their right.

Fitz reacts without thinking, reaching back to grab at Jemma’s wrist, feeling a sharp, hot line of pain run up his left forearm as he pulls her up the hill. He can hear May running behind them, and something else, skittering after the three of them as they dash toward the border. Barely watching where he’s going, he nearly collides with Peggy’s tree, the lower branches brushing against his shoulder as he veers to avoid it, tumbling to the grass as his feet slip out from under him.

Even though the impact with the ground knocks most of the air from his lungs, Fitz still manages to heave a sigh of relief, because they’re up the hill, past the tree and across the border, which means they’re safe. He doesn’t know where Pyrrhos is, having lost it in the fall, and he’s lost track of May as well, but he can feel Jemma next to him on the grass, which feels like enough for the moment until he hears her cry out, obviously in pain.

May leaps over the two of them in a flash, her sword slicing through the dark shape that had pursued them up Half-Blood Hill. As it falls into a cloud of dust, Fitz is horrified to realize that it had somehow crossed the border, and that there’s a bright red streak across Jemma’s upper arm, visible through the large rip in the sleeve of her orange camp t-shirt.

“May,” he gasps, when he reaches out to touch the wound and Jemma recoils with a hiss; it’s deeper than he thought, and overwarm to the touch.

“I’m going to the Big House for help. You stay here with her.”

“I can’t leave her,” he says, though he’s not sure why. It’s just something he needs to say, as he feels Jemma shiver beneath his hand on her shoulder.

“I know, Fitz. Just do that, ok?” she answers and then takes off down the hill, even as Fitz repeats _I can’t leave her_ , still feeling ridiculous for saying it and still unable to keep himself from it. Jemma leans against his shoulder, grimacing as she moves her arm.

“May went for help,” he says, and Jemma laughs softly before grimacing again.

“I know, I heard her. You’re bleeding.” Fitz looks down at where the fingers of her uninjured arm are brushing at the shallow cut along his forearm, which is bleeding slightly. “When you grabbed me… I was still holding my knife. That’s what cut you. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Sorry for grabbing you,” he says, moving his arm around her shoulders when he feels her shudder again.

“It was some kind of scorpion. Whatever hit me.”

“I could only see that it was big and dark. We’ll figure it out, Jemma. You’ll be fine.”

“It crossed the border.”

“I know. We’ll figure that out, too.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

Fitz shakes his head and holds his arm out away from her, not wanting her to worry about him when her injury is clearly worse than his.

“I can figure that out right now,” he says, letting his arm burst into flames along the cut. It stings a bit, and he realizes he’s never tried to heal anything that quickly. When he shakes the fire out, there’s a thin white scar along his arm, but it’s no longer bleeding, and Jemma’s head drops to his shoulder again, her own hand coming up to trace the edges of her wound.

Fitz sighs in relief when he hears the sound of hooves coming up the hill, and glances over to see Chiron thundering towards them, Coulson and May running after him. He turns his head, pressing his nose against Jemma’s hair with a deep breath.

“We’ll figure it out together, Jem.”

————-

They’re sitting at a table in the infirmary, except for Chiron, towering over the rest of them with a stormy look on his face, and Trip, who crouches next to Jemma, inspecting her arm. He’s the oldest Apollo kid at camp over the school year and has a knack for medicine inherited from his father, although both Mr. D and Chiron are watching him carefully, as is Skye, who he had brought along when Coulson had gone to get him. Ward had come with them as well, but the camp supervisors had sent him to collect a couple of his siblings to go up and guard the border until they could figure out how it had been breached.

Chiron had tried to get Jemma to lie on one of the beds, but she’d refused, wanting to be a part of the conversation, rather than just the subject. Fitz had tugged his chair over close to hers though, so she could lean her head against his shoulder; she was pale and every once and a while she would shiver powerfully, her fingers tightening where she’d tangled them in his shirt whenever she did. Skye, sitting on her injured side, had her hand on Jemma’s knee, peering over Trip’s shoulder as he examines the wound.

“This isn’t good, but it could be worse. You said it was a scorpion?” he asks, and Jemma and May both nod, “I think it just sort of hit you with its stinger, it didn’t get a chance to actually sting you. There’s still definitely poison in there, though.” Trip reaches out carefully to touch the deep cut, then draws away with a hiss. Fitz realizes that if Jemma’s injury felt overwarm even to him, he couldn’t imagine how hot it must feel to the rest of them.

“So what can we do?” Skye asks, and Trip rubs at his eyes.

“If we knew what attacked you, we could figure out the antidote, especially since the poison seems to be fairly slow acting,” Chiron says, turning from where he’d wandered over to the large window in the infirmary, looking out over camp, “But the three of you have only been able to provide a limited description from your encounter. And guessing incorrectly would be disasterous.”

“I would know it if I saw it again, even just a picture,” Jemma says, her voice slightly weaker than usual, although Fitz thinks he might be the only one who notices. It’s pretty clear that she’s trying not to let them see how much the poison might be affecting her, but he knows her better than anyone. He swallows hard as she shivers again, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, careful not to touch her arm.

“We’ve got books on monsters, right? We could find it, a picture or even just a description, and then we would know what we were dealing with,” she continues, and Fitz nods from her side.

Chiron sighs, rubbing at his eyes while he nods.

“I’ll get you the books.”

————–

Jemma’s shivering has become pretty much constant now, as they enter their third hour of poring over the camp’s books on monsters; Trip and Skye have been in and out, both trying to convince her to lie down, but she’s shaken her head and stubbornly kept her eyes on the pages in front of her every time. Fitz hasn’t even bothered trying to get her to take a break, just making sure his chair is close enough that she can lean into his side. She gives a particularly large shudder, needing a moment to steady herself against the edge of the table, and he stands without a word, retrieving a blanket off the nearest bed and draping it over her shoulders. Wrapping it around herself a little more, Jemma tilts her head back to smile at him standing behind her.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, and something in Fitz’s stomach flips.

“No problem,” he whispers, then clears his throat to manage a more normal volume, “We’re going to fix this, Jem.”

She nods, and he bends down to press a kiss against her forehead, her skin overly warm against his lips before he resumes his seat, meeting her smile with the biggest one of his own that he can manage right now. His stomach flips again.

He doesn’t know why he keeps repeating that, except that maybe if he says it enough they’ll both keep believing it  and because the only other thing he can think to say is _I can’t leave you_ , and he’s terrified of saying that again.

He’s scared. It’s the first time he’s really thought it, really acknowledged it with words instead of just nearly drowning in the feeling, since they’d begun their mad dash up the hill. He’s scared of losing her and of the flips in his stomach and of _I can’t leave you_ and of being called a genius by everyone but not being able to figure out how to help her.

Jemma straightens next to him suddenly, and he glances over at the book in front of her; stretched across most of the area of both pages is a huge, dark sketch of a scorpion, more information scrawled in the one empty corner.

“Is that what it was?” he asks, and Jemma’s nods, turning the page to look at the drawing from another angle.

“I think. You didn’t really see it?” Fitz shakes his head. “May said she did. Is she…?”

“I’ll go get her,” he says, jumping to his feet, then hesitates, “You’ll be all right on your own for a few minutes?” She smiles softly at him, nodding, and he takes off to look for May as his stomach flip-flops again.

She’s sitting out on the porch with Chiron, and both of them follow Fitz back to the infirmary, where Jemma has wrapped the blanket around herself and curled up in the chair to study the little paragraph that accompanies the drawing. May nods as soon as she sees the monster in the book, and Chiron accepts the book from Jemma’s shaking hands. Fitz sits back down so she can lean against him, letting her eyes fall closed as she rests her head against his shoulder.

Chiron sighs, and Fitz thinks he can hear millennia in it.

“It’s a descendent of Scorpio. There are some in the forest, which means that it’s possible to make an antidote if you can kill one and bring back the stinger. It’s easy enough to find, but it won’t be easy to kill.”

“I’ll go,” Fitz says, before he can think enough to let his fear stop him, his voice sounding doubled in his ears until he realizes that Jemma had said the same thing at the same time, lifting her head from his shoulder and curling her hands into the blanket to stop their shaking. They match each other again with “You can’t go.”

“You’re shaking like a leaf, Jem,” he says, as she forces herself to stand even as she shudders and catches herself against the table, “You can’t possibly-”

“It’s my life, Fitz. I’m not asking your permission,” she continues, finality in her voice, when he opens his mouth to argue again. He watches her for a moment, pale, eyes red-rimmed, carefully holding her entire body still through pure force of will, and then he nods.

“I’ll come with you.” _I can’t leave you._

She nods, her stern expression softening into a smile as she steps forward to hug him, pressing her face in against his shoulder, his bruised ribs protesting the strength with which she’s got her arms wrapped around him. Fitz returns the pressure in equal measure, and Chiron looks up from the book to watch the two of them before he speaks.

“ _There is no beast I cannot beat._ Repeating that phrase should draw the scorpion to you, so you don’t have to scour the entirety of the woods for it. Be careful.”

It’s a long way between the Big House and the woods, and they walk in silence, cutting through the strawberry fields to avoid encountering any other campers. Skye, Ward and Trip will probably come looking for them back in the infirmary at some point, and he wonders if they’ll try to come out after him and Jemma, if Chiron or the older campers will stop them. He wants to break the silence, but doesn’t know what to say until they reach the edge of the forest and Fitz can hear Jemma whispering the phrase Chiron had given them, voice steady even as she shakes. They make sure to keep the edge of the trees in sight as they walk and they haven’t encountered any monsters yet, but they both still draw their weapons without a word between them.

“There is no beast I cannot kill,” he whispers, trying to catch sight of movement in the shadows.

“Beat.”

“What?”

“It’s beat, not kill,” Jemma says, smiling a little, but then she stops walking, reaching to lean against the nearest tree to try and catch her breath.

“Jemma, maybe you should go back. Somebody else can-” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“I’m fine. I just need to-”

Her eyes go wide all of the sudden, and Fitz spins to find what she’s looking at: a huge black scorpion, just across the creek from them. He’s just about to turn back to figure out what she thinks they should do when pain explodes at the back of his head.

Fitz drops like a bag of rocks, losing his grip on Pyrrhos as he hits the ground. He lays there gasping, trying to get his breath back and think about anything other than the pain pulsing through his skull and down his neck. When the starbursts finally clear from his vision and he staggers to his feet, what he sees nearly knocks him back down.

Jemma has crossed the creek, dwarfed by the scorpion, knives up. He can see a few deep gouges in the monster’s hard outer body, but not anything that seems to have slowed it down. Scrambling for his sword, still dizzy, Fitz crashes into the creek, the water up to his waist in seconds, stumbling over the uneven ground.

“Jemma!” he shouts as she lunges at the scorpion, barely managing to duck away from the stinger as it comes down, burying itself in the ground for a second before tearing free again, “Jemma!”

Even only halfway across the stream with his vision swimming, he can see that she’s pale and shaking, having trouble getting herself back to her feet. She’s forced to scramble away on hands and knees the next time the scorpion strikes, rolling across the grass to avoid the heavy stinger. Jemma sways where she stands, lifting the lone knife she’s still holding in defense as Fitz reaches the far bank, scrambling out of the water in an attempt to get to her.

“Jemma!” he shouts again, keenly aware of how useless he is as he sprints forward. Jemma tumbles to the grass in an effort to avoid the scorpion, and doesn’t get back up.

A flash of orange shoots past him, and he recognizes Ward just as the older boy pushes his spear deep into the monster’s side. The scorpion lets out a screeching sound that makes Fitz’s head ring, and then it dissolves into a cloud of dust, except for the stinger, which drops next to Jemma’s still form on the ground.

Fitz pushes it out of the way, remembering at the last moment to avoid the point even if it’s not attached to the scorpion anymore, and drops down next to her, shaking her shoulder. He can feel Ward standing behind him, spear at the ready, but he can’t concentrate on anything but the girl in front of him.

“Fitz, we’ve got to get her back to the infirmary. You grab the stinger to take to Chiron, and I’ll follow with her.” Fitz looks back at the older boy, who nods. “I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

He nods back, trying to catch his breath and blink the lingering dizziness away, before he grabs the large black stinger off the ground and sets off towards the Big House. Glancing over his shoulder, Fitz watches as Ward bends down and carefully scoops Jemma up against his chest. With a shaky breath, he breaks into a run, trusting the other boy to keep his word.

————-

“You should probably get some sleep,” May says, and Fitz lifts his head up from where he’s resting it against the edge of Jemma’s bed, “Brought this for your neck, although now that I think about it, you might melt through it in a couple minutes.” She hands him an ice pack, which he accepts gratefully. The position he’d been dozing in was a bad choice with his neck already as sore as it was.

“I want to be here when she wakes up,” he responds through a yawn. May comes to sit next to him without saying anything else, “Does Chiron know how the scorpion got across the border yet?”

“He thinks someone weakened the border just enough for it to get across. It would have to be someone powerful, probably with help from a camper.”

“Chiron thinks a someone in camp helped do this?”

She nods, “He doesn’t think there’s much chance it would work without an inside man. Especially not that close to the tree. It might have been a prank or something.”

“Letting a killer scorpion into camp is considered a _prank_?”

May shrugs, “It’s not unusual for kids to get bored towards the end of the school year, with so few people in camp and not much to do. People do stupid things. If we figure out who it was, they’ll be in serious trouble for something like that, even if they didn’t actually want anyone to get hurt, but for now we just have to be thankful that Jemma’s going to be fine.” The look on her face doesn’t look like she’s happy that that’s their only option.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before May has to leave to patrol with Coulson and Garrett, squeezing his shoulder as she rises. Fitz is about to lay his head back down on the edge of the bed when Jemma blinks her eyes open, settling her gaze on him almost immediately. He lets out a breath he’s pretty sure he’s been holding since this morning when she smiles at him.

“It worked?” she asks, voice soft, and he nods, rubbing at his eyes to try to prevent the tears of relief that want to fall.

“Yeah. Sorry I couldn’t- that I couldn’t reach you to help. I was dizzy and the creek was deeper than I thought and then Ward came out of nowhere and-”

“Fitz, it’s fine. I’m the one who hit you, remember?”

“Yeah, no more doing that,” he says, rubbing at the still tender area at the base of his skull. He’d held a handful of flames against his neck for a while, but the soreness continues to linger, and Skye had told him he had a pretty impressive bruise disappearing up into his hair as well. “Although I suppose if you did, Ward would be there to come to the rescue again anyway,” he shrugs, but Jemma shakes her head.

“You were there the whole time,” she says, and _I can’t leave you_ clangs in his head, “That’s important. That’s the most important.”

Fitz blushes, rubbing at the back of his neck for a second until his fingers brush the tender area at his hairline and he pulls away with a wince. Jemma laughs, reaching to tug on his arm, and he stares down at their hands like he’s never seen anything like it before.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and she laughs again.

“I’m sleepy. Come here.”

For the first time in their friendship, Fitz hesitates to climb up on to the bed next to her, his stomach full of motion. But Jemma keeps pulling on his arm, apparently oblivious to his distress, and he gives in after a few seconds, clambering up and letting her get comfortable beside him.

“You’re warm,” Jemma says after a few minutes, and he smiles, pressing his nose against her hair.

“I’m always warm. It’s sort of my thing.”

“You’re taller than me.”

“What?”

“You’re taller than me. We used to be the same height, but I noticed today that now you’re a few inches taller.”

“You had time today to notice that I was taller?”

“I was trying to find things to think about other than what was happening. I noticed while we were walking,” she says, shrugging, and Fitz isn’t sure what to say in response to that. They’re quiet for a few minutes before Jemma speaks again, her voice heavy and soft with exhaustion.

“The fire isn’t Hephaestus.” Fitz doesn’t have to ask for a clarification this time, recognizing the reference to the prophecy immediately. “It’s not your dad. The _fire’s chosen one_ isn’t talking about Hephaestus.”

For a moment, it’s like he can breathe for the first time in months, like someone’s lifted a weight off his chest that had been there for so long he’d stopped noticing it. Jemma shifts slightly against his shoulder, eyes closed as she continues.

“It’s not your dad. It’s Hestia. She chose you. The fire is Hestia.”

The weight drops back onto his chest, the breath leaving his lungs in one fast exhale as he stiffens, although Jemma doesn’t seem to notice at all. Glancing down, he sees that she’s asleep, breathing slow and even. He tries to match his breaths to hers, even as her words echo in his head, and eventually the exhaustion of the day catches up with him.

————–

He’s curled up on his bed, blinking himself awake after an afternoon nap that he had hoped would help with his headache; thankfully, it had, but he’s groggy now, and wonders if anyone would mind if he just spent the rest of the day here.

Jemma’s off doing something with a couple of her siblings, who had been warming up to her over the school year and who had seemed particularly impressed with her after the quest and the business with a scorpion. Fitz wishes that they could have just managed to be nice to her from the start, but she seems happy and they’re nice enough, so he’s decided not to worry about it for now.

Donnie’s gone too, probably off with Seth and Callie somewhere. Aphrodite had finally claimed Seth while Fitz and the others had been in San Antonio, and Donnie’s been different since Fitz got back, quieter and more sullen. He figures that the younger boy is disappointed that Seth had had to wait so long to be claimed for no other reason than that his mother couldn’t be bothered to handle it in a timely manner.

Fitz becomes gradually aware that he’s no longer alone in the cabin and speaks without opening his eyes, since there’s only one person who could have gotten in so soundlessly.

“Did you know?” he asks, waiting a few seconds before finally glancing at Hestia where she’s tending her campfire on the floor next to his bed, “Did you know that if you claimed me it would-? With the prophecy and everything?” The goddess nods, and Fitz sighs, staring up at the ceiling above him with his jaw clenched.

“Why? If you knew it would mean that the prophecy was about me, and if you-” he stops there, because they’ve never really talked about why exactly Hestia chose to claim him, even after his father had already done so. “Why would you do that to me, if you cared about me enough to claim me as your son?”

When he finally looks back at Hestia, she’s shaking her head, a stern look on her face.

“Because all that would have changed if I hadn’t claimed you was the wording of the prophecy, Leopold. Do you think I claimed you on some whim, or that the Fates chose you randomly? Chiron must have told you how rare it is for me to claim demigods, especially nowadays.”

“But why me?”

The cross expression drops finally, Hestia smiling softly.

“Whatever you may believe about yourself, Leopold Fitz, you are special. And the things that make you you, the things you choose to be consciously and the things you just are without even thinking about it, those are things that I value in my children. And the Fates, well, they can claim impartiality all they want, but they like their heroes, the real ones, to have at least the potential to be worthy of the task. No one likes a good show more than those three, when it comes down to it.

“There were certain advantages that could be gained in the coming struggle by claiming you as my son as well as Hephaestus’, and it didn’t take much for me to know I wanted to give you those advantages. I know it’s terrifying, not knowing what you’ll have to do but knowing it will be difficult, and I’m sorry if I’ve played a part in that, but not even the gods can escape fate.”

Fitz sits up finally, swinging his feet off his bed through the fire in front of him, kicking brilliant red flames into the air for a few seconds before they disappear. It’s strange, to suddenly know for sure that the prophecy is about him; before, even with the others telling him over and over again that it was about him, there was always room for him to say it wasn’t, that there were an endless number of other possibilities. But now, with Jemma’s insight and Hestia’s confirmation, the idea that the Oracle’s words were meant for him.

“I think I’m going to go take a walk,” he says, after a few minutes, knowing he can’t keep sitting here but unable to think of anything more specific to do. He just knows he needs motion and change and somewhere bigger than the rather cramped and crowded interior of the Hephaestus cabin. Hestia only nods.

Letting his feet take him where they will, he’s surprised to end up in the empty rec room at the Big House. There’s the ping pong table that Skye and Trip are so fond of, and a collection of ratty couches and chairs arranged around a tv and an Xbox. And in the corner, tucked away on a small shelf next to the entertainment center, sat an old telephone, black and heavy and, Fitz realizes, why he’d come here in the first place without really thinking about it.

He half expects there to be no dial tone when he picks it up and holds it to his ear, but it’s there, a steady whine. His fingers trace over the number three times before he actually presses the buttons, and he slides down the wall next to the little shelf to sit in the shadows of the corner as he listens to it ring, once, twice, three times, and then a click as someone on the other end picks up.

Fitz holds his breath, wondering if he’s misremembered the number, or if it’s not the right number anymore, if the dusty old phone tucked into the back corner of this room will even make international calls, and then everything in his body relaxes at the voice he hears.

“Hello?” He’s struck silent then, and she continues after a few seconds, “Is there anyone there?”

“Mum,” Fitz manages finally, and he can clearly hear the gasp at the other end of the line.

They’ve been exchanging letters for months now, since the first reply she’d sent him on his birthday, but he’s never managed to work up the courage to call her, to actually pick up the phone and speak to her. He’s not sure why, except that there’s something that seems more real about a phone call than about the letters, though he can’t even pinpoint what that is either.

“Leopold, is that you?”

“Yeah, Mum, it’s me.”

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she says, and he can tell that she’s crying.

“You too, Mum,” he replies, his own voice thick.

“Did something happen? Is that why you’re calling now?”

“No. I mean, sort of. Something happened to Jemma, but I just- I just needed to hear your voice. I needed to talk to you. I should have called a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

“None of that now, Leopold. Something happened to Jemma? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine, Mum,” he starts, and he can’t stop once he’s going. Fitz tells her everything he can think of, about his friends and camp and the things he’s learned. Even the prophecy, as much as he can manage with the raw, exposed feeling of the recent revelations still sitting in his chest; he worries, when he first starts talking about it, that he’ll scare her, but she just listens, asks questions, and it’s such a relief to talk about it to someone who is outside of it but who loves him, to have this contact with the outside world who is concerned about his fate.

Eventually, they run out of things to say and just sit silently, until Fitz realizes how late it is in Glasgow.

“I should let you go, Mum. I’ll call again soon, I promise.”

“You had better, Leopold John Fitz. I love you. Be safe. Or at least, as safe as you can manage.”

“I love you, too. I’ll try. And I’ll call, I really promise.”

They sit for a few more minutes, unwilling to cut the connection just yet, before they finally hang up with one more round of goodbyes and promises. Even after that, Fitz listens to the buzz of the dial tone, his grip tight around the phone and at the outside edge of his jeans to keep him from just calling her again. Finally, he returns the phone to the cradle, curling tighter into the corner, arms around his knees.

“Fitz, is there a reason you’re curled up in the corner?” asks Ward, and Fitz looks up to see him standing in the doorway, realizing he must have lost track of time a bit.

“I, uh, was calling my mum.”

“Oh,” he says, crossing the room to settle next to Fitz in the corner, which is slightly amusing to watch. Ward is very athletic and graceful, but he’s just so damn tall that folding himself into the cramped space is quite a thing to see. Eventually he’s settled, although Fitz isn’t sure why he’d come over in the first place as they sit in silence.

“How’s your mom?” Ward asks after a while, fiddling with the laces on his sneakers.

“Good. I hadn’t talked to her in a long time, so it was nice to- to finally get to talk to her again.”

“I bet.” Fitz likes Ward, but they rarely spend time together without the others around and when they do, it’s usually at the forge and they don’t talk that much. Fitz isn’t sure what to say, and he’s fairly sure the older boy feels the same.

“Thank you. For what you did for Jemma,” he clarifies, when Ward raises his eyebrows.

“No problem. Anybody would have done it.”

“You slayed a full grown killer scorpion after coming out after us even when Chiron told you not to while I couldn’t even cross a creek.” This just earns a shrug from Ward.

“You went out there with her in the first place. And I know you would have gotten that scorpion if I hadn’t shown up. Jemma knows that, too,” he adds after a second, bringing a hand up to touch one of the many beads on his necklace, the orange at the far end, “I mean, they put you on the bead for a reason.”

Fitz blushes, looking down at the single bead on his own necklace, a tiny flame carved into it. All the campers had the leather strings, with beads to mark every summer they were at camp, each bead marked with a little symbol representing the most significant event of that particular summer as chosen by the head campers. He’d been embarrassed when they’d handed out the beads in early August, and whenever Skye or Trip or Jemma teased him about it, he reminded all of them that it didn’t really have much to do with him at all; it was about a power that hadn’t been seen in centuries turning up at camp, not about him. They still teased him.

“Skye and Trip were looking for you so we could play ping pong. They should be here soon, probably. I volunteered to go look for you to see if I could catch some peace and quiet.”

“Sorry.”

Ward shrugs, “Don’t mind. I kind of like this corner.”

Fitz raises his eyebrows, looking at the clearly uncomfortable way the other boy is sitting, and they both laugh at the same time, reaching to help each other up when they hear Skye, Trip and Jemma’s voices from the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, FZZT equivalent!
> 
> I finally sat down and figured out about how many chapters we have left, and this fic which was originally meant to be three parts long is instead going to be 30 chapters long. Oops. Also, as a person who generally doesn’t read slow burn fics as they’re being written, I feel I should tell you guys that while there is certainly elements of romantic Fitzsimmons throughout the fic, they don’t actually get together for like 20 more chapters. So if you want to come back and just read everything then, I won’t be offended in the least.
> 
> I forgot to mention the camp necklaces and beads when I wrote the end of the summer chapter, so I snuck them in here. The stuff with the scorpion is pretty much made up, although I did use a couple resources for inspiration. A scorpion seemed like the way to do what I wanted to do here, and I’m pretty sure they appear in canon, although not necessarily with the same origins.
> 
> Next chapter, and particularly the chapter after that, the main arc of the story really does finally kick off, an entire ten chapters in.


	10. not the victory but the action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Chiron announced that the first Capture the Flag game of the summer is tonight.”

Fitz had hoped that having more of their siblings around as the summer started would improve Donnie’s mood, and the younger boy had certainly seemed happier as more and more kids got to camp, although he suspects it has more to do with the improvement in Seth’s mood than anything else. The other boy had seemed to recover from a lot of his disappointment about the amount of time it had taken his mother to claim him, especially as he’d gotten closer to Raina, the head of Aphrodite, and  Fitz was hoping that Donnie could develop something similar with Anne Weaver or some of the other Hephaestus kids.

The camp has been in full summer mood for about a week now, and the dining pavilion is buzzing when Fitz and Jemma arrive for breakfast. Trip and Ward talk animatedly about something while Skye shakes her head at the both of them.

“What’s got them so excited?” Jemma asks once the two of them have scraped some of their eggs into the fire and taken their seats, and Skye rolls her eyes.

“Chiron announced that the first Capture the Flag game of the summer is tonight, so they’re trying to figure out how the teams will shake out. Nerds,” she explains, raising her voice on the last word to make sure the other two hear her. Ward grimaces but Trip just sticks his tongue out and goes back to speculating.

“Ares has one flag, who has the other?”

They didn’t play during the school year with so few kids in camp, so the last winners of the summer kept the flags for close to eight months, and it was hard to miss the bright red ten foot long banner emblazoned with bloody spear and boar’s head that had hung over the front door of the Ares cabin for so long. But now that Jemma mentioned it, he didn’t remember seeing another flag outside any of the other cabins, or who had possessed it at the end of the year.

“Demeter. They keep their flag inside their cabin though. May says that’s the best way to make sure nobody steals it,” Trip says, grinning when Ward scowls.

“Freaking Hermes kids,” he mutters, although not very loudly.

Coulson had whole-heartedly denied his cabin’s involvement in what amounted to monthly thefts of Ares’s prominently displayed flag, which usually ended up prominently displayed _elsewhere_ ; the top of the bathroom had been a favorite, although one time they’d stolen one of the camp canoes as well and left the flag floating a couple hundred feet out into Long Island Sound. Everyone in camp had found this hilarious, except for the four kids in Ares who had stayed over the school year and their siblings when they’d returned for the summer.

Fitz listens to Ward, Trip and Jemma talk strategy and make predictions for the rest of breakfast, then sets off in search of Anne once he’s finished with his food. Since the cabin heads are usually the ones forming alliances for Capture the Flag, he’s pretty sure she’ll have the best idea of which side they’ll be on after dinner tonight, and what she wants him specifically to do. Hephaestus isn’t a particularly sought after cabin, since there’s only six of them, but they’re naturally the best at booby traps in the whole camp, so they usually end up a team fairly early after the bigger cabins like Apollo and Hermes are sorted. If any cabin but Ares had the flag, Fitz probably wouldn’t bother asking this early, but he’s pretty sure everything has already been settled without much bartering today, at least for his siblings and him.

He finds her at the forge, watching a couple of their siblings work while she does inventory on extra weapons for the armory, and she smiles when she sees him.

“Morning, Fitz. We’re with Demeter tonight, and I’ve got a special plan for you, if you’re up for it.”

“Sure,” he says with a shrug as he sits next to her. He’s pretty much fine with doing what he’s told when it comes to Capture the Flag, although he likes when the cabin heads ask his opinion. Jemma’s the one with the head for battle strategy and they’re usually with Athena anyway, since they and Ares are the two most common holders of the flags, meaning the other cabin makes most of the plans and does most of the attacking, leaving Hephaestus to work on their traps in defense of the flag.

“How come we’re never with Ares?”

Anne answers without looking up from her inventory sheet, “Dad’s not exactly the war god’s biggest fan, and not just because of the business with Aphrodite. And I’m not what you could call John Garrett’s biggest fan, especially not when it comes to strategy games. He’s not much for planning.”

“They end up with the flag a lot for being led by someone who doesn’t like planning.”

“Well, there’s only so much you can do against a plan like ‘a dozen huge screaming kids with spears who spend all their time training appear out of the woods and rush at you.’ Plus, I think Ward does more of the work than he lets on. But tonight, you and I are going to beat them, and then we’re going to hang the flag outside our cabin and turn any Hermes kid who tries to steal it an alarming shade of pink for at least a week.”

“You’ve got something better than twelve kids with spears screaming bloody murder?”

“Of course. I’ve got the Hephaestus super kid on my side,” she says, looking pointedly at Fitz, who laughs at the description.

“Let me know what your plan is tonight and I’ll do my best to help.”

“That’s one of my favorite things about you, Fitz- you’re always willing to help. It’s right below ‘can set himself on fire at will with no ill effect’ on the list.”

———-

“It’s going to be a repeat of Yorktown tonight,” Trip says, bouncing on his toes, and Jemma rolls her eyes next to Fitz.

“The French are coming to help you?” she asks, and Fitz snorts before he can stop himself. Trip looks less offended and more pleased that someone is willing to go back and forth with him.

“Well, we’ve got the goddess of love on our side. That’s like the French, with Paris and all, right?” he says, and Skye, leaning against Ward’s back as they all wait for Chiron to come dismiss them to hide their flags and start the game, groans, tilting her head back to rest it between his shoulders.

“Please make him stop,” she whines, but Ward just chuckles.

“Is all your trash talking going to be based on a war that’s two and a half centuries old?”

“Did we throw all that tea into Boston Harbor?” he says, dancing out of the way of Skye’s attempt to whack him in the side with the flat of her sword, grin not faltering.

Chiron gallops up with his leather medical bag, and the two teams split across the creek that forms the boundary line, Ares and their allies to the north while Demeter’s team stands on the southern bank. Fitz pulls his helmet on, running his fingers over the tall blue horsehair that matches the rest of his team, and watches Ward help Skye straighten her red plumed helmet across the creek. Most of the campers are holding huge shields, much larger than the ones they use in one-on-one combat practice, but neither Fitz nor Jemma have one, and only the youngest few kids from Demeter. Coulson has an empty hand as well, although he does have the sword he rarely uses at his waist to accompany his own shield.

“I know most of you are aware of the rules, but I’ll repeat them anyway for our new campers and for those of you who may have gotten fuzzy on the specifics since last summer. Your flags must be prominently displayed, and have no more than two guards in the immediate area. Captured members of the opposite team can be disarmed but not restrained, and injured members of both teams should be brought to me for treatment. All magical items and abilities,” he glances over toward the Demeter side, “are allowed and the entire forest is fair game. The first team to cross the boundary,” he indicates the creek between the two teams, “with their opponent’s flag wins. No maiming or killing allowed. Good luck to both sides.”

That’s the signal for the two groups to take off in opposite directions at a run, Fitz glancing over his shoulder to watch the huge gaggle of red plumes disappear into the trees.

Apollo, Hermes and Aphrodite had all sided with Ares, which meant that the four biggest cabins in camp were all on one side and Demeter’s forces were a little shorthanded. This didn’t seem to bother May or her siblings very much as they planted their dark green flag on the back slope of a small hill and the cabin heads started to give instructions on what they needed them to do.

“Fitzsimmons, come with me,” Anne says, gesturing them over with her shield.

“Fitzsimmons?” Jemma asks, and the older girl shrugs.

“I’ve decided it’s what I’m calling the two of you when you’re together. Saves time. Now come on.”

“Are we guarding the flag?”

Anne laughs, “Fitz, I tell you I have a plan to utilize your gift to bring honor and Capture the Flag glory to our cabin, and you assume I’m going to leave you behind to watch the flag. I’m disappointed, little brother. I’m leaving Bailey back here with Donnie, so he can learn how to work the traps before we inevitably have to defend our flag against all comers in the next game.”

“What are we doing then?”

“We are going to get _their_ flag. And Jemma’s going to help us, because she’s a good person and she likes us, and also because I already worked it out with Nate that we’ll help them get the flag next time we play. Don’t tell May about that last part though.”

In the distance, a conch shell blows to signal the start of the game and Anne taps her weapon against her shield, the metal ringing softly. Like Fitz, the rest of the Hephaestus campers use swords, but the head of the cabin prefers a heavy war hammer, the head made of celestial bronze. It’s not exactly a traditional Greek weapon, but when Fitz had asked her about it, she had shrugged and said that it was just as effective as anything else if you knew how to use it. Having sparred against her, Fitz has personal knowledge of exactly how well she uses it.

The two Hephaestus kids follow Jemma as she picks her way through the woods, heading north. They have to move further down the creek to avoid a group of Aphrodite kids guarding the border, and then swing back the opposite direction to miss being seen by another patrol that Fitz can’t identify through the trees. No red plumed defenders confront them, although they can hear other fights breaking out across the battlefield as both teams search for the flags.

They’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes when Jemma suddenly stops, a grin breaking out on her face that Fitz knows means she’s pleased with herself as she points ahead of them. Clearly visible in the little valley between three or four small hills sits the bright red Ares flag, the sun catching on the shiny bronze helmets of the two kids left to defend it. Anne taps her hammer against her shield again in approval, resting it on the ground for support as she surveys the scene.

“All right, what next?” she asks, and Fitz can tell it takes a second for Jemma to realize that the older girl is asking her.

“You want me to figure it out?”

“You’re the one with the mom who always has a plan. We’re just the muscle today.”

Jemma nods absently, already focused on considering the situation in front of them.

“I think we should split up,” she says eventually, nodding to herself, “There’s three of us and only two of them, and I’m pretty sure one of them is an Apollo girl, which means she spends more time at the range than practicing close quarters combat. There’s probably more guards posted around, and splitting up means they can’t all concentrate on us in one group.”

It takes them a few minutes to figure out each of their routes down to the flag, and then they set off separately towards their goal. _Don’t get shot_ is Anne’s last piece of advice to them before they split up, and Fitz is pretty sure his heart nearly stops when he hears what he’s pretty sure is the soft _twang_ of a bow string off to his left thirty seconds after leaving the others; freezing, he expects someone from Apollo cabin to appear at any moment, but he continues forward when it doesn’t seem that the shooter had been aiming for him, hoping that Jemma and Anne are both still fine as well.

There’s a little clearing at the edge of the woods, just before they open to the area where the flag is, and Fitz stops for a moment to catch his breath for the final run, still mostly hidden in the shadow of the big pine trees. He’s just about to start forward when a figure wearing a red plumed helmet emerges from the other side of the open grass, unable to disappear into cover before the other camper spots him.

Fitz lifts his sword, ready to defend himself, but lets it drop slightly in surprise when he realizes that it’s John Garrett standing across the clearing. He would have expected the Ares cabin leader to be at the front of the offensive charge to grab Demeter’s flag, like he usually is. The older boy doesn’t move,  but a savage grin splits his face, and although Fitz has never met Ares he has no doubt that Garrett has never resembled his father more.

The stillness in the clearing is almost unnerving, as he had been expecting an immediate mad rush from the other boy, and the silence as well, since Garrett isn’t exactly known for his restraint when it comes to making comments in any given situation. Fitz pulls himself up to his full height, unimpressive as it may be, trying to keep his breathing steady as he watches Garrett with one eye and checks the surrounding woods for more opponents with the other, not wanting to be ambushed from behind. The other boy still hasn’t moved except to adjust his grip on his spear, and there’s something about him in this moment that makes Fitz wildly consider reminding him of the _no maiming, no killing_ rule; instead, he clenches his jaw and pushes a long flame up Pyrrhos’ blade, which just seems to make Garrett smile more.

He takes two steps forward, Fitz’s eyes drawn to the sharp tip of his spear, and then crumples to the ground with a sound like a bell being rung. It takes a few seconds for him to figure out what’s happened, until he glances up to see Anne standing there, spinning her hammer in one hand.

“I think you might have dented his helmet,” Fitz says, and Anne shrugs.

“I’ll fix it for him when he wakes up. Or make you do it.”

“Sure. Um, thanks, by the way. How’d you know where I was?” he asks, and she nods down at his sword, which he realizes is still burning.

“You might want to put that out. Don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves than absolutely necessary this close to the flag.”

Fitz nods, letting the flame die, and the two of them creep forward, sticking together without discussing it. The Apollo girl guarding the flag is facing them, and although she doesn’t seem to have seen them yet, he doesn’t know how they’re going to cross the open space to disarm her or get the flag without her noticing the two of them and firing the arrow she already has nocked. He’s just turned to ask Anne if she has any ideas on what they should do when he spots Jemma making her way across the grass at a crouch. She manages to get within a few feet of the other girl before she’s noticed, darting forward before she can shoot and using her twin knives to twist the daughter of Apollo’s bow out of her hands. There’s not much time to admire the move, though, as the girl yells when her weapon is tugged away from her, drawing the attention of her fellow guard and other members of her team.

“Get the flag!” Jemma shouts as she turns to deal with the Ares camper advancing towards her, and Anne pushes Fitz toward the bright red banner as they crash out of the trees before turning to challenge several of the red plumed opponents charging down the hill towards them. He sprints forward, expecting arrows to rain down at any moment as he crosses the wide space between him and the flag.

May and her siblings had wrapped small roots and vines around the base of their flag to make it harder to grab, but the Ares side didn’t have that particular advantage and Fitz slips his sword back into his scabbard to free up both hands to pull the huge flag from the dirt. He turns just in time to see Anne slip in front of him, three distinct _pings_ sounding as arrows launched by a row of Apollo campers at the top of one of the hills impact her shield.

“Your flame trick is great and all, but there are just some things you need a big piece of metal for,” she says with a grin as the next set of arrows comes towards them. Before she can raise her shield, Fitz slashes one hand through the air in front of him, an arc of flame cutting the projectiles out of the sky.

“Show-off,” Anne says, though she’s still grinning as they start towards the boundary line, Jemma appearing on his other side as they run.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” she shouts as they crash through the trees, the flag flapping above them as more red team pursuers appear around them.

“I didn’t either,” he replies, shrugging as best he can while running and carrying the flag, “I just sort of did it.”

“You know what might make these guys way less enthusiastic about getting their flag back?” Anne calls, and it takes Fitz only a few seconds to catch on to her idea.

“If it was entirely engulfed in fire?” he says, already pushing flames up the pole as they break free of the trees and the creek comes into view. A couple of their teammates have appeared to back them up, engaging the campers chasing them, but a few break free towards the flag, led by Coulson and his giant shield.

Almost at the creek, Fitz hesitates, nearly tumbling over as the giant flag above his head throws off his balance at the sudden stop. Caught up in the excitement and action of the moment, he’d grabbed the banner when Anne had pushed him towards it, even though he’d been planning on letting her bring it back. Anne, who had figured out how to build a team around her to get the flag, who led their cabin, who had only ever been claimed by Hephaestus. He’s worried that if he crosses the boundary line with it, his father won’t be the parent it defaults towards.

There’s not much of a choice though, as he’s right at the edge of the creek with none of his siblings free or close enough to take the flag from him. As Fitz splashes into the cool water, Coulson makes one final lunge for him, which comes to an end as Anne meets his shield with her war hammer, driving him to his knees and resulting in a truly magnificent metallic clang as cheers break out among the blue team. When they don’t trail off at all, he chances a glance up towards the flag he’s holding and grins at the sight that greets him.

The flag is still red, but far more orange than the previous deep blood color, and the boar’s head and spear have been replaced by the dark shape of a hammer. He turns to see Anne helping a dazed looking Coulson back to his feet, and she grins when he meets her eyes, holding the banner out in her direction. She shakes her head though, before nodding towards their siblings, crowding around him now. It takes some effort, but after a few swings Fitz really gets the flag waving, snapping with its movement, and the Hephaestus kids send up a cheer that seems much bigger than the four of them should be able to produce. The other blue team campers join them as Chiron trots up to officially end the game, and Fitz smile grows as hands join his around the staff, lifting the flag higher above all of them.

—————-

The campers are spread out across the amphitheater, the new flag moving among groups of kids as the Hephaestus siblings pass it around. It’s been awhile since their cabin has claimed one of the flags, and they’re taking full advantage of having it now. Fitz hands the flag to Donnie, who earns a laugh from Seth and a glare from Callie for waving it above his head with a whoop once he’s got his hands on it.

Demeter had returned their flag to their cabin after the game was over, not wanting anything to happen to it in the aftermath, but Anne still seems intent on displaying their prize and has already filled Fitz in on her plans for protecting it. She’s sitting down near the fire with May and some of the other cabin leaders from their team, laughing and joking.

It’s a stark contrast to the scene about ten rows up, where Garrett sits silently, holding an ice pack against the back of his head and slowly eating a square of ambrosia, occasionally nodding or shaking his head when Raina leans over to say something to him. Fitz feels kind of bad for him, but remembering the look in the older boy’s eyes as they’d stood across from each other in the clearing, he can’t help but be glad that Anne had shown up when she did.

“Is he all right?” he asks Ward as he sits back down next to Trip, nodding across the amphitheater towards Garrett.

Ward shrugs, “I guess. He’ll have a bad headache tomorrow. And he’ll be pissed about losing for a week, and Dad’s probably going to come down and give him a hard time about it, especially since it was you guys who captured it. Ares can be…” Ward trails off, looking up at his older brother, and Fitz can surmise from the look on his face that whatever he was going to finish the sentence with wasn’t exactly a kind description of his father.

Another shrug. “He really doesn’t like to lose. He always says that he understands it’s just a game, but he’s not very convincing about it.”

“Couple of summers ago, he nearly put his spear through one of Dionysus’s kids when she was trying to cross the border line with the flag,” Trip says, and Ward grimaces.

“That wasn’t- that was more of an misunderstanding than anything else. He didn’t mean-”

“How does someone misunderstand a spear to the side?” Trip responds, but he’s laughing, and the argument continues without much actual heat.

“Where’s Jemma?” asks Fitz, turning away from the others to see if she’d gone up to the fire to make a s’more, but there’s only a couple of Apollo kids.

“She mumbled something about being tired and left right after you went to give the flag to Donnie,” she says, poking at Ward’s shoulder to get him to stop arguing with Trip.

“I’m gonna go look for her.”

“Shocking,” Skye replies, but she smiles at him as he makes his way down the steps, waving back at them when the other two look up as he departs.

He checks the Athena cabin first, then heads toward Hephaestus, since he doesn’t actually know where else she would go. Jemma’s sitting cross-legged on his bed and looks up when he pushes the door open; she hasn’t really been crying, but she sniffles as he settles next to her, and he doesn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“You should be out celebrating with your siblings.”

“I was. Waved the flag around my head and everything. It was quite the show.” She smiles softly and he bumps his shoulder against hers. “Sorry you did all that work and didn’t really get anything to show for it.”

“Anne’s smile was payment enough, I think. Besides, we get the flag all the time. We need to let some of the less fortunate cabins have some fun every once and a while.”

“That’s cold, Jemma Simmons,” he replies, trying to sound serious, and she returns the bump against his shoulder, not bothering to retreat, just leaning against him.

“You hesitated. Before you crossed the creek today. You stopped for a moment.”

Fitz nods, takes a few seconds to figure out how he wants to answer.

“I was worried that- I’m not exactly close to my dad,” he says, and even the word feels strange on his tongue, sits crosswise in his mouth even after he’s finished it, “And I was worried that the flag- Anne had done all that work, and I’d figured she would want to carry the flag across, so it’d be fine. But then we actually got to the boundary line and I had it instead, and I was worried that it would default toward-” he swallows hard, and it is Jemma’s turn to nod.

“You were worried it would turn into Hestia’s flag.”

“Yeah. Don’t even know what that looks like. But Anne and the others, they don’t deserve that. I appreciate everything Hestia’s done for me, and I usually feel a lot more like her son than Hephaestus’s, but still, you know.” He trails off with a sigh, not sure what else there is to say, and glances down at Jemma when she doesn’t reply. She’s smiling up at him softly, and he shifts slightly, careful not to dislodge her from where she’s leaning against him.

“What?”

“You can be very sweet, you know that, Leopold Fitz?”

He blushes, and thinks, rather ridiculously, of the rule about one guy and one girl being alone in a cabin, like he and Jemma haven’t been breaking that since the day they showed up at camp. Fitz doesn’t know why the harpies are less strict when policing him than the other campers, and he’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with how much they may or may not know about the prophecy, but he’s grateful for it right now, whatever the reason.

Jemma sighs, and he glances down at the photograph in her hand. In it, a pretty woman, clearly very pregnant, leans back against a brick wall, hands crossed over her rounded stomach; a man with dark hair and big glasses has one hand against the wall, attention focused entirely on the woman and not on the camera in the slightest. Both of them are laughing, and the photo is just slightly blurred, like maybe the person who took it was shaking with laughter too.

“Your parents?” he asks, and she nods, “They look like you. Or, um, you look like them.”

“Yes, the phenotypes match up quite nicely,” she responds, and it’s such a Jemma thing to say that Fitz would laugh if he hadn’t caught the particular note in her voice just then. Instead, he just waits for her to continue, her fingers tracing the edges of the photograph.

“I’ve talked to May, you know. And Coulson and Anne, and most of the older kids, even Chiron, and they’ve all told me the exact same thing: you can’t be _granted_ demigod status. You are either born one or you’re not, you either have a godly parent at birth or you don’t. They can’t _pick_ you, at least not at first. They can claim you later, like Hestia did for you, but if you weren’t already the son of another god it wouldn’t have meant anything as far as your status as a demigod is concerned. You can’t be-be picked as a demigod. You have to be born one.”

“And you were.”

“Yes. There’s no other way I that I could be here otherwise. There are places for mortals within the mythology, but not as sons or daughters of the gods. Champions, yes, like Odysseus, but Athena claimed me as her _daughter_.”

“Even though you have two mortal parents.”

“Correct.”

“Maybe you could ask your mom about it. She might tell you, you never know. Or Hestia, she might be willing to help,” he says, unsure what else to say. Not knowing things bothers Jemma, and she’d come to this place with so many answers and gotten more questions out of the deal. And she couldn’t just take the pieces of what she knew and fit them together to figure out what she didn’t, because she didn’t have enough pieces.

“Do you know who took the picture?”

“A university friend of my parents. Their best friend actually. They talk about her, sometimes, but I’ve never met her.”

“They look happy.”

“Yes,” she says, and then they’re out of things to say. The silence they fall into isn’t awkward though, and at some point Fitz realizes she’s nodded off against his shoulder. He’s just considering his options when his siblings come clattering in, raucous and with the flag in tow. Jemma stirs slightly, and he glares down toward the other Hephaestus campers, who all smile sheepishly; Donnie gives a half-hearted little whoop that sets the rest of them off again, though they at least try to muffle it behind their hands or with their orange shirts pulled up over their mouths. Fitz shakes his head, helping a still half-asleep Jemma to her feet.

“I’m going to make sure she gets back to her cabin okay,” he says, and Anne nods, moving the flag from the doorway so they can duck out of the cabin, Jemma leaning most of her weight against him. Once they’re a couple steps away, noise fills the cabin again, and Fitz smiles, shaking his head again.

All of the other cabins are dark as they cross to the other side of the horseshoe of buildings, and by the time they reach Athena’s cabin, Jemma has mostly woken up again, although she’s still slightly out of it. The two of them stand at the door for a moment, and then she pushes up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek, smiling as she falls back onto her heels.

“Congratulations, Fitz,” she says, and he wonders if this is how normal people feel when it’s hot outside, overly aware of every little movement.

“Jemma,” he whispers, more of a breath than anything else, and she stares up at him expectantly for several long moments before he shakes himself out of it. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime. Except when we beat you, of course.”

She’s slipped into her cabin before he can think of anything to say back, and heads back across the open square, nodding at Hestia as he passes her campfire, returning to the light and noise of Hephaestus cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of who I am as a person, that will not be the last American Revolution joke that Trip makes. Of that you can be sure.
> 
> I swear to God, the main plot really does get fully underway in the next chapter. I have run out of set-up to put it off. Foreshadowing things is interesting when everyone knows the basic outline of what’s going to happen.
> 
> Fitz discovering his powers on the run is pretty similar to how Percy figures stuff out in PJO (and like the others with powers, but particularly Percy). Something happens and he tries something to fix it and he figures out something new he can do. Although Fitz’s pyrokinesis mirrors Leo Valdez’s from HOO, the ways he’s able to use them are much closer to how Percy’s hydrokinesis works, since Fitz mirrors him more in the story. I was actually pretty close to having him be a son of Poseidon, but he just fits too well with Hephaestus, and the direction I ended up taking the main plot works much better if he has fire powers than water ones.
> 
> The title might seem a little strange, but will probably make more sense when the second part of it comes up. And I suppose if you recognize it (or can spend six seconds on Google) and know even the most basic facts about where I’m from, you get that it’s got more meaning for me than just the literal meaning of the words (although I think the literal meaning of the words is pretty good too).
> 
> Also, I complain about how this show has too many characters and thus no story line gets the sort of time it really needs to properly resolve itself in an understandable number of episodes, but if they added Anne Weaver as a more prominent character, you would not hear a peep from me. And look, I finally got someone to call them Fitzsimmons! That took forever.
> 
> Bailey and Nate are not references to anyone. I just needed names for additional siblings and did not want to comb through episodes to try to find actual characters that fit (also, I’m not sure anyone blond and light-eyed has ever been on this show to act as a real sibling for Jemma).
> 
> We’re about a third of the way through, meaning that what I intended to be one ~10,000 word part ended up being ten parts and nearly 50,000 words. That was probably inevitable, once again because of who I am as a person.


	11. for we cannot tarry here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “May I present the Hunters of Artemis."

“Fitz, will you please move your nasty pile of socks out of the center of the cabin?”

He pushes himself up from where he’d been dozing, listening to the cabin’s constant mechanical hum and his siblings’ chatter, looking over his shoulder at where Anne is standing in the doorway and then down at the pile of socks on the floor where he drops them every night when he goes to sleep. Fitz doesn’t like sleeping in socks, but he always forgets to take them off before getting into bed. Shifting over, he leans down and pushes the pile underneath his bed, turning back to Anne with a smile. She glances at Bailey, the only other girl in the cabin, and the two share an exasperated look that Fitz and their other brothers can understand pretty clearly: _Boys._

“Why are you making us clean up anyway?” Donnie asks, pushing his own pile of stuff under his bed and earning a glare of his own from his sisters.

“Because, while normally I am content to let you guys wallow in a state of semi-squalor, Chiron says we’ve got visitors coming. So, it’s time to tidy up, at least a little.”

“Who’s coming?”

Anne shrugs. “He didn’t say specifically.”

After a few minutes, she deems the cabin “as good as it’s going to get,” and the six of them head over to the arena, where the campers are congregating. Fitz slips to the back to stand near Jemma and Skye, Trip and Ward joining them a few minutes later, just as Chiron and Mr. D enter. The wine god, as usual, looks bored and unhappy to have to deal with the campers, and Chiron looks almost apprehensive, which is slightly unsettling.

“Good morning, everyone. As your cabin leaders have told you all, the camp is expecting visitors, who should be here any minute now,” Chiron announces, and, even as he speaks, a hunting horn rings out. Campers tense, glancing around, but everyone’s attention is soon drawn to the group of girls who suddenly sprint into the arena, impossibly graceful, clad in silver coats and jeans.

“Here they are now,” says Chiron, as the girls settle into a neat line next to him. None of them can be any older than Fitz, and they all have bows and full quivers of silver arrows. One of the girls stands slightly in front of the others, a bright red streak standing out against her dark hair.

Trip mutters several Greek curses next to Fitz, and when he turns to check what’s wrong with him, he sees Ward, pressing his hands against his eyes like he’s suddenly developed a migraine. Most of the other older campers seem to be having similar reactions, though they’re working hard to not make their distress too obvious.

“What?” he asks, and Trip sighs, rolling his head to the side to look at him.

“Hunters.” Before he can ask for clarification, Chiron clears his throat, raising his eyebrows at the gathered campers. The girls look quite pleased at the campers’ reactions.

“May I present the Hunters of Artemis. Some of you have already made their acquaintance, on quests or during their visits to camp in the past. They will be staying with us for the next few days, so those of you who have not met them before will get a chance. I expect you all to treat our guests with respect and kindness while they are with us.”

“When are we-?” Garrett starts, but Chiron holds up a hand to stop him, smiling.

“Tonight we will play the usual Capture the Flag game between the campers and the Hunters. Cabin heads, I advise that you get together and make a plan,” he says, and a murmur of excitement runs through the crowd. Chiron’s smile widens and he turns to the girl with the red streak , who Fitz figures is the leader of the dozen or so girls standing in line behind her. “Ms. Hand, you know where your cabin is.”

She nods, and the group of girls departs just as swiftly as they’d arrived, moving seamlessly as one, silver jackets and quivers flashing. A lot of the campers noticeably sigh with relief when they’re gone, small groups setting off towards the dining pavilion and breakfast or back to their cabins for a little more sleep before their first session of the day; the cabin leaders come together near the center of the arena floor, heads bending together in discussion.

“Food?” Trip asks, and Fitz responds, “Always,” before anyone else can so much as nod, making the rest of them laugh and shake their heads at him as they head towards breakfast.

“So who are these people?” Skye asks, once they’ve settled with their food.

“The Hunters of Artemis,” Trip says, continuing when she gives him a look, “They’re a group of girl demigods who pledge allegiance to the goddess Artemis and eternal maidenhood in exchange for immortality, basically.”

“Basically?”

“They don’t age, but they can be killed in a fight. You know how all of them look about fifteen? Some of them have been fifteen for a long time,” Ward says, and Trip scoffs.

“You’re all huffy,” Skye says, “Since when are you huffier than Ward about anything?”

“I’m not huffy,” Ward defends himself, but Skye just waves her hand at him.

“Apollo and Artemis are pretty much the king and queen of sibling rivalry. When the Hunters visit, they generally go out of their way to score some points for their mistress at the expense of my cabin.”

“What are they doing here anyway? They weren’t here last summer, were they?” Jemma asks, and Ward shakes his head.

“No, they usually only stop by every couple of years, if they need help or they want to recruit new members. Also, Hand likes to beat us at Capture the Flag every few years, just to remind us she can.”

“Hand?”

“Victoria Hand, the girl with the red streak in her hair. She’s been the top Hunter for as long as anybody here can remember.”

“Speaking of huffy, how long do you think until Garrett’s head explodes? He hates her.”

“He doesn’t hate her. He hates losing Capture the Flag, and it’s not like she’s what any of us would call a gracious winner.”

“I still think he hates her,” Trip says, and Ward shakes his head but drops the matter.

Fitz doesn’t really notice much difference throughout the day, except for the small groups of silver clad girls who wander around camp. He and Jemma train in the arena with May, then Skye drags them to the climbing wall with Trip and Ward. At lunch, the Apollo table is upside down, and Trip helps his siblings right it before sitting down with his food, grumbling curses under his breath. After that, they all spend most of the afternoon playing sand volleyball against with the satyrs, mixing up the teams every few games.

Finally, once everyone has finished dinner, before Chiron dismisses them, he invites anyone interested to stay around for the Capture the Flag game against the Hunters. About twenty campers end up milling around the dining pavilion, with the fifteen Hunters sitting at their table, apparently unbothered by their disadvantage in numbers.

Garrett and Ward take the lead for the campers pretty quickly, the older boy carrying their flag, bright orange with a black pegasus in the middle, like the camp shirts. Anne’s not there, but Donnie is, standing between Callie and Seth while Garrett starts to issue instructions to different groups. There’s a handful of Trip’s siblings and a surprising number of Aphrodite kids, including Raina, who has never shown much interest in Capture the Flag to Fitz’s knowledge.

“Apparently, the Hunters of Artemis are big fans of calling us useless,” Skye explains when he asks her about it, and the angry looks her siblings keep casting over at their opponents suddenly make more sense.

They end up near the place where Ares cabin’s team had hidden the flag during the game when Fitz and Anne had claimed it for Hephaestus, which is probably as good a place as any, especially with so many Apollo kids. Red plumed campers start to disappear into the trees to take up their assigned positions, and Garrett calls Fitz over.

“We’re a little short on numbers, think you can cover the creek straight ahead of the flag by yourself?”

“Fitz can handle it,” Ward says, and Fitz ducks his head at the vote of confidence, nodding.

Jogging towards the boundary line and picking up speed when the conch horn sounds, he arrives at the creek in a few minutes. He can see another camper off to his left, but they’re a pretty long way down the creek, and his immediate right is totally uncovered as far as he can tell.

Fitz doesn’t pay a whole lot of attention in the strategy class that Chiron teaches, as it’s not really his area of interest, but he’s absorbed enough to know that the outnumbered Hunters will probably attack the sides of their defense, rather than going straight up the middle. He assumes Garrett planned for that, and catches occasional glimpses of orange t-shirts and silver jackets pursuing each other through the trees.

After about ten minutes, he leans back against one of the big rocks along the edge of the creek, idly spinning Pyrrhos in one hand. The camper who had been off to his left has disappeared, either in pursuit of a Hunter or off to try to grab the silver flag they’d hidden somewhere across the boundary line.

Pure reaction keeps him from taking an arrow to the helmet. The silver flashes in the sun and he sweeps his hand in an arc before he can even think, incinerating the arrow with a puff. He knocks the next two down pretty easily before the shooter, a tall African-American girl with a dark patch over one eye, emerges from her hiding space among the trees across the creek. She shoulders her bow and pulls a knife from her belt, leaping nimbly across the creek and moving towards him. Fitz makes sure the rock isn’t at his back so he has room to move, lifting Pyrrhos to receive an attack.

He’s thankful for all the time he’s spent sparring Jemma in the past year; the Hunter is quicker than she is, but only has one knife against her two, and for the most part Fitz is able to use the length of his sword to his advantage to keep her out of striking distance. When she does manage to duck close, he ignites the grass at her feet, causing her to dance back and leaving small black circles along the ground in their wake.

Fitz can hear cheering erupt behind him, but can’t turn to look until the Hunter drops her fighting stance with a smile. Glancing over his shoulder, he groans when he sees Victoria Hand waving the orange camp flag above her head, the other Hunters gathering around her and cheering. Turning back, he’s surprised to see a hand extended towards him.

“Your skills are admirable, for a boy,” the Hunter says, “I’m Akela.”

“Fitz,” he says, shaking her hand, and she nods once before she goes to join her team in celebrating. Fitz turns when someone claps a hand down on his shoulder, finds Trip smiling at him.

“That sucks.”

Trip shrugs, “We haven’t beat the Hunters since Steve Rogers was at camp. The first time. Let’s go drown our sorrows in video games, ping pong and s’mores, as men do.”

They find Jemma, Skye and Ward, who says he’ll do pretty much anything if it means avoiding Garrett and the mood he’s sure to be in after that, and then retreat to the basement of the big house. Ward and Trip start a game of Madden, which Fitz doesn’t have much interest in. He’s just settled in, slouched down in the corner of the couch with Jemma curled up next to him, when Skye tilts her head back from her spot on the ground, smiling at him.

“I was promised s’mores.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“Doesn’t matter, the answer is no.”

“Someone has to go get the s’more stuff.”

“That someone could very easily be you, especially since I’m going to be the one doing most of the work to make the s’mores.”

“Please don’t try to convince me that the tiny little flame you use to toast the marshmallows requires any effort from you at all. I’ve seen you do much more complicated things without even thinking about it.”

“I’ll go,” Jemma sighs, sitting up.

“I’ll come. You might need help carrying stuff,” Fitz says, pushing himself up and offering her a hand.

“Oh, sure, now that Jemma wants to go,” Skye mutters, and he glares at her as he follows Jemma up the stairs.

There’s a group of Hunters talking to a couple of campers on the porch, and Fitz remembers seeing a few of them near the volleyball court when they’d been playing this afternoon, talking to the girls and completely ignoring the boys except to occasionally send withering looks at them.

“Some of the Hunters talked to you?” he asks Jemma, and she nods.

“Yes. Not for long though, since they knew I spent the whole day with you.”

“What?”

“They don’t like boys, and I spent the whole day with you. I think they could tell our priorities didn’t exactly line up.”

“Oh.”

“You’re a boy, Fitz.”

“I know! I just- thanks, I guess. For, um, liking boys.”

Jemma laughs, “You’re welcome. Any time.” Even with the joke, he’s pretty sure she knows what he means, so he doesn’t bother clarifying.

They walk the rest of the way to the amphitheater and back in silence. The group of girls who had been on the porch earlier have left, but he can hear someone talking around the corner. Peering around the side of the house, he sees Hand and Chiron seated at the table where the centaur usually plays pinochle with Mr. D; he’s folded himself down into the wheelchair he uses when he leaves camp and has to appear more human.

“Monster activity is on the rise, and some of the girls have started to have dreams, especially the ones who have been around longer. Just like last time.”

“Last time meaning-?”

“Kronos. The girls who were there for that say the dreams are even similar. What’s going on? Lady Artemis won’t tell us anything.”

“It’s certainly not my place to override the goddess, if that’s what you are suggesting.”

“I’m just trying to keep my Hunters safe.”

“I know, Victoria. I’m trying to do the same for my campers,” Chiron says with a sigh, and Fitz feels Jemma tugging on the back of his shirt.

“Finally!” Skye shouts when they make their way back down to the basement, scrambling up to take the s’more supplies from them, spreading them out on the coffee table and beginning to assemble one for herself. Trip and Ward, who have abandoned the Xbox in favor of the ping pong table, both laugh.

“I’ve got winner,” Fitz says, reclaiming his seat in the corner of the couch.

“Sure you won’t be too tired from helping all of us make s’mores?” Trip asks, grinning even as he stretches to return Ward’s serve.

“I’ll be all right. Like Skye said, this is easy,” he answers, reaching his hand forward so that Skye can hold her marshmallow out over the little flame cupped in his palm.

—————

“Fitz! Fitz, you have to get up.”

He blinks up at Skye, trying to figure out why she’s waking him up this early and why she looks so worried. Last night, the Apollo cabin had played ‘Children of the Sun’ for more than an hour straight as revenge for the minor pranks the Hunters had been playing on them all day, and he assumes Trip and his siblings now need help dealing with whatever the fallout of that was. Glancing around the cabin, he can see his siblings, minus Anne, trying to wake themselves up and figure out what’s happening.

“Come on,” Skye says, tugging on his arm when he reaches for his jeans, “No, just come on.”

“Skye, I’m in my pajamas,” he protests before realizing the same could be said for her. She pulls on his arm again and he follows her outside.

Fitz is surprised to see what looks like most of the camp milling around on the green in front of the cabins, pretty much everyone in their pajamas like they’d been woken up in a hurry. There’s a wide path in the crowd through which Chiron had obviously galloped, and he spots the camp leader, kneeling down in front of the silver Artemis cabin. Victoria Hand is lying on the ground next to him, a huge tear and an even larger bloodstain marring the front of her coat, her knife catching the sunlight and glinting a few feet away from her outstretched hand.

_Immortality, basically._

_They don’t age, but they can be killed in a fight._

“Oh gods,” he whispers, and the closest heads turn towards him as soon as he speaks, even though he can hear other people making similar exclamations throughout the crowd. Like they’d been waiting for him, easily able to pick out his accent among the other voices. Fitz doesn’t understand why until Skye tugs on the back of his shirt and points behind him, at the side of Hephaestus cabin. Splashed across the side in gold paint that almost seems to glow in the sunlight, the letters jagged and sloppy but clearly readable, is the prophecy he’d heard from the mummy in the attic of the Big House.

_The forge god’s child holding flame, comes with dark-eyed wisdom’s daughter._

_A  titanic escape the gold one makes, the forged trust breaks._

_A hero’s sixteenth birthday dawns, the father of the sun moves his pawns._

_Five stand by the fire’s chosen one, by whose sword and heart battles lost or won._

Underneath the familiar words, the phrase _HYPERION RISES_ is painted in large, blocky capital letters.

Fitz feels his knees go weak, and someone wraps their hand around his tightly. He turns to see Jemma standing next to him, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Skye stands close enough that he can feel her shoulder pressing against his back. Coulson, May and Anne are standing in front of the message, and Coulson steps towards him with his mouth open, like he knows he should say something but has no idea what.

“I think it would be best if everyone would return to their cabins and stay there until told differently. Cabin leaders should make sure their siblings are present, then report to the Big House for an emergency council,” Chiron says, turning from Hand’s body to study the prophecy painted on the side of the Hephaestus cabin before he sighs. “Fitz, Jemma, you had better come as well.”

Council meetings are held in the rec room around the ping pong table, and Fitz and Jemma sit on the porch, watch the cabin leaders filter into the Big House one by one. Skye had wanted to come too, but Coulson had sent her back to the Aphrodite cabin and Chiron had backed him up. Jemma hasn’t let go of his hand since she’d taken it while they were standing on the green.

“Hyperion is the Sun Titan,” she says, and of course she knows that off the top of her head, “The father of Helios, Selene and Eos with the Titaness Theia. They call him ‘The Golden One’ because he wears golden armor.” That last bit clicks in Fitz’s head.

“I’ve seen him in my dreams, chained up.”

“Coulson was telling me one time that some of the other Titans escaped Tartarus to fight with Kronos, but that Hyperion wasn’t one of them. Maybe he couldn’t escape his prison in time to help.”

“Or maybe he was biding his time to make his own run without Kronos getting in his way. Or he wanted a shot at me instead of the Avengers.”

The volume of the discussion downstairs increases, audible through the open front door of the Big House. Jemma is still holding his hand. He thinks about gold paint glowing in the sun, blood on a silver jacket, the fire’s chosen one. Eventually, the cabin leaders come back up the stairs, Coulson and May in the lead.

“And where in Hades are Garrett and Raina?” Coulson asks, scooping his shield up from where he’d left it on the porch.

“Garrett’s gone.”

The campers gathered on the porch turn at Ward’s voice. He’s standing at the bottom of stairs, holding a piece of paper out to Coulson. His hand is shaking and he’s pale, and Fitz doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ward like this. Coulson glances at the note, then turns back towards the doorway.

“Get Chiron.”

“I’m here,” the centaur says, the cabin leaders parting to let him through. He takes the note and Fitz catches just enough of a glimpse of it to see what it says. It’s on a much smaller scale, but still clearly recognizable as the handiwork of the person who had painted on the Hephaestus cabin.

_HYPERION RISES._

“May, will you please go check if Raina is at the Aphrodite cabin. It’s possible that she misunderstood my directions to the cabin leaders.” May takes off at a run and Chiron turns to Ward. “Your cabin should elect a new head camper as soon as possible.”

“Garrett’s, what, defected?” Anne asks, “To _Hyperion_? What are we supposed to tell our siblings about that?”

Chiron sighs, “You should continue to tell them the truth.”

“And if there’s other kids who are missing all of the sudden?”

Another sigh, “Keep an eye on each other. That’s what we can do right now. Speaking of your siblings, you should all return to your cabins, explain to them as best you can.” The cabin leaders disperse as May jogs back up to the porch. She shakes her head when Coulson and Chiron turn to her.

“Fitz, Jemma, I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted everyone else to find out.”

Fitz wonders what he was planning on doing. Making an announcement in the dining pavilion after dinner like it was Capture the Flag or the chore rotation for the week?

“Perhaps it would be best if the two of you went back to your cabins,” he says, and Fitz nods numbly, standing. They’re halfway to the cabins before Fitz stops suddenly, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong?” Jemma asks, stepping in closer when he just keeps shaking his head, eyes downcast.

“I can’t- I can’t go sit in the cabin and have everybody stare at me,” he manages finally, voice shaking, and Jemma nods.

They wander for a while, no real destination in mind, until Fitz spots a figure wearing a silver coat sitting up in the arena’s bleachers. He heads that way without thinking about it, taking the stairs slowly, realizes that it’s the girl he’d fought near the creek during Capture the Flag, Akela. She looks the same as she did last night, except now she’s got a silver circlet glinting in her hair. It only takes him a few seconds to figure out what it’s for.

“You’re the new leader?” Fitz asks, settling next to her, Jemma on his other side.

“Fairly elected by my peers. After Victoria, I’ve been with the Hunters the longest. Plus, no one else wanted the job.”

“It must be a hard one,” Jemma says, and Akela nods.

“It’s about to get harder,” she replies, and they’re silent for a few minutes before she speaks again, “You’re who the prophecy was talking about, right? ‘The fire’s chosen one?’ That’s you?”

He starts to say something like _that’s what a lot of people think_ , but it sticks in his throat and instead he just nods.

Akela sighs, “I should go. There are arrangements to be made. I just needed-  I needed a few minutes to think.”

“Akela!” Fitz calls when she’s a few rows down, “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from a guy, but I think the Hunters made the right choice.”

“I do, too,” Jemma says, and Akela smiles, just slightly.

“Thank you both. Good luck, to both of you.”

Once she disappears out of the arena, Jemma stands, tugging on his hand. Fitz doesn’t protest, just follows her wordlessly. They spend the rest of the day like that, walking around camp, skirting areas where there might be a lot of people, the motion helping in a way he can’t explain. Skye and Trip find them with food for lunch and again at dinner, and Anne checks up on them a few times, all of them bringing updates.

Ward has officially been elected the new head camper for Ares by his siblings, and they’ve all been holed up in their cabin since this morning, reeling from Garrett’s betrayal. As far as anyone knows, Raina has completely disappeared as well, though she didn’t leave a note and they’re not sure if she went voluntarily or was forced. They’re waiting a couple days to hold their election for a new cabin leader, since they didn’t have as clear of an heir apparent as Ares had in Ward. Nobody else has left camp yet, but that doesn’t mean nobody will.

At sunset, he ends up in the strawberry fields, Jemma still next to him. After a few minutes, Trip and Skye emerge from the darkness, glancing around and dashing from shadow to shadow.

“Gods, whatever deal you’ve got going with the harpies where they don’t bug you when you’re out after curfew is a good one,” Skye says, “I’ve got to get in on that.”

“Ward would have come too, but some of his kids are pretty shaken up, and he has to be all responsible and everything now,” Trip explains.

“Because Ward has been known for being extremely irresponsible up to this point,” Jemma says.

“You guys don’t have to- You can go back to your cabins if you want,” Fitz says, but Skye is shaking her head before he even finishes talking.

“Remember, on your birthday? I told you that we were on your side, whenever you told us what was up. And well, you didn’t really get a chance to tell us, but-”

“You’re stuck with us,” Trip says and Skye nods. Jemma just smiles at him, and Fitz ducks his head, hoping the darkness will hide his eyes.

“Fine. Just, um, don’t sleep on any of the strawberry plants. Demeter cabin will get mad.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks for the advice. We’re new,” Skye says, stretching out on his left with Trip on her other side. Jemma curls up next to him, wraps her hand around his again.

She drifts off pretty quickly, while Trip and Skye whisper back and forth for a little while before falling asleep. Fitz forces himself to take deep breaths, keep his eyes closed. He knows what’s coming.

The dream is darker than it usually is, lit only by the faint golden glow given off by the giant man’s armor. He’s not screaming or laughing or tugging at his chains this time, just standing perfectly still.

“Leopold Fitz,” Hyperion says in a voice that sounds like the lack of oxygen around a big fire, and something in Fitz’s gut freezes, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, that is the actual honest to God in heaven above main plotline right there! Now the fun really starts.
> 
> And look, three chapters in a month! That’s like a miracle. This would have been up hours ago, but I got distracted watching Vines (listen, nothing impresses upon me the vastness of human creativity quite like those little six second masterpieces). You should all be impressed that I got this chapter done so quickly anyway, because I’ve been distracted thinking about not one but two other AUs. Because my muse is ridiculous.
> 
> There’s not actually that much known about Hyperion in Greek mythology, other than that he was a Titan and pretty basic stuff. I’m mostly going off of his appearance in the PJO books. But yes, he’s the Big Bad in the story.
> 
> Title for this chapter comes from ‘Pioneers! O Pioneers!’ by Walt Whitman, which is… *vibrates softly.*


	12. part 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he approaches the front of the arena, he’s surprised to see someone with Ward, a large man wearing camouflage cargo pants and a leather vest. Ward stands in front of him, shoulders straight and chin up, and it’s only after Fitz gets closer that he can see the white knuckle grip his friend has on the spear he’s holding in front of him.

Fitz heads toward the arena, grimacing every time he puts weight on his left foot. It had been a long session with Jemma and May this morning, and mostly what he wants to do is curl up in his bed for the rest of the day. But Ward had asked him to spar before lunch, so he limps across camp, convinced he can feel the distinct lines of bruises left by the tight loops of vine that May had wrapped around his shoes but determined not to blow his friend off.

Since Garrett had left camp, Ward had thrown himself into training with an intensity that made his former habits seem positively tame. Skye had become his regular training partner, but the new head camper for Aphrodite, Mason, keeps organizing bonding days for the cabin, and she must not have been able to get out of this one.

As he approaches the front of the arena, he’s surprised to see someone with Ward, a large man wearing camouflage cargo pants and a leather vest. Ward stands in front of him, shoulders straight and chin up, and it’s only after Fitz gets closer that he can see the white knuckle grip his friend has on the spear he’s holding in front of him.

“What sort of cabin leader let’s seven of his siblings defect in a month? _Seven!_ And all this after you missed your favorite brother consorting to release a Titan from Tartarus and overthrow Olympus.” The man bends down to make sure his face is level with Ward’s.

“My sons are supposed to be leaders and warriors. What are you?”

_Ares_ , Fitz realizes, even as he starts forward, feeling his hands start to heat up.

“It’s not his fault!” he says, and Ares turns from Ward with raised eyebrows.

“Fitz, don’t-” Ward tries, but his father holds up a hand and he falls silent, jaw clenched.

“He’s doing his best to hold your cabin together. Nothing Garrett did was his fault. If you want to yell at someone, why haven’t you tracked him down?” Fitz asks, and the god looks him up and down, smiling when he spots the fire flickering in his palms. He leans around Fitz to speak to Ward,  like he can’t be bothered to actually address him.

“This is the kid they picked?” he laughs, considering Fitz again, “Well, he’s got spunk, at least.”

“Did you need anything else, Dad?” Ward asks, his voice sharp.

“Nope, kid. Just came to tell you that you’re going to need to sharpen up if you or your siblings are going to get through what’s coming intact. Your brother has won these first few battles, and you’ve got to step up if you want to win the war. Say hi to the others for me,” Ares says, reaching out to slap Ward’s back, jolting him forward. He strides out of the arena and there is the sound of a motorcycle starting up and revving for a few seconds before it fades.

“Is he always that friendly?” Fitz asks, turning to Ward with a slight smile, but it drops when he sees the look on the other boy’s face.

“You didn’t need to do that. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know. I just thought-”

“I doesn’t matter what you thought! I can take care of myself and my cabin, especially when it comes to my own father. I don’t need you or anyone else to stick up for me. You don’t know anything about anything!” he shouts, and storms out of the arena before Fitz can say anything, leaving him standing there alone.

He doesn’t see Ward again until dinner, when he sits at the far end of the table from Fitz and refuses to look at him. Skye is doing plenty of that for both of them, glaring at him every time Fitz lifts his eyes from his plate, and he supposes Ward had filled her in on what had happened earlier. He focuses on his food, not really paying attention to what the others are saying until raised voices catch his attention. Trip and Ward are glaring at each other across the table, Trip’s jaw tight as Ward speaks.

“You can’t understand. Sure your dad has about a million kids, but he claims every single one of them quickly, and brings you guys presents like that boombox he gave you a couple years ago. I can’t remember my dad giving any of my siblings a present that wasn’t a weapon, and that’s usually only after he’s yelled at us for half an hour about losing Capture the Flag or the chariot races.

“You don’t understand what it’s like to have your godly parent only care about whether you’re embarrassing them or not, or to wait weeks for your mom to claim you because she just couldn’t be bothered, or any of the stuff that the kids of the minor gods deal with from the gods or the other campers.”

“So you’re saying it’s fine that those kids have deserted camp? That they’re siding with a Titan, trying to take down Olympus and everything it stands for? Everything this camp stands for?” Trip shoots back, and Ward’s shoulders straighten for a moment like he’s going to continue the fight, but then he softens with a sigh.

“No. I’m just saying you can’t understand,” he says, pushing his plate away from him and standing with another sigh. He’s gone before any of them can say a word, and Skye’s glare is trained on Trip now.

“Seriously? It’s like you guys can’t help yourselves today!” The glare returns to Fitz before bouncing back to Trip. “Have you got any brilliant ideas about how to stop kids from leaving? Had a lot of chances to try them out in your cabin?”

Then she’s gone too, leaving Jemma, Trip and Fitz sitting at the unclaimed table in silence.

Nineteen kids have left camp since Garrett and Raina disappeared after Victoria Hand’s murder a month ago, eight from Ares and five from Aphrodite among them, leaving little doubt in anyone’s mind about whether the two of them had left camp willingly. Four of the Aphrodite defectors have been boys, and now Mason and Seth are the only guys left in that cabin. The other six have disappeared from various non-Olympian cabins, and the number is big enough now that the absences are starting to be really noticeable, empty spaces where there used to be campers. Everyone is just waiting for the next space to appear.

Over the next few days, Ward avoids pretty much everyone except Skye and his siblings; he sits at the Ares table and spends any time that he’s not at the arena in their cabin. It’s not as though he’s exactly been a social butterfly in the past, particularly lately, but this is a new level, even for him. So Fitz is surprised when he hears someone clears their throat behind him at the climbing wall and looks down from his spot halfway up to see Ward standing there. He barely avoids the lava dripping down towards him and scrambles for the top, the older boy following him up without breaking a sweat. They sit for a long time, staring out over camp as the sun sets before Ward speaks.

“My mom had an affair with Ares,” he starts, not looking as Fitz, “I don’t know if my mortal dad ever knew for sure that I wasn’t actually his, but he suspected, that much is certain. I have a little brother and a little sister who aren’t demigods, but I guess he just assumed that if I wasn’t really his son, they probably weren’t either. And my older brother, well, I guess he sided with Dad and decided that we weren’t really his siblings. My mom couldn’t really do anything, and things were pretty bad for the three of us in that house.

“I tried, you know, to protect them, but I was just a little kid myself, and I had all sorts of problems that I didn’t know were because I was a demigod. But I knew I was different, that there was something about me, and I kept waiting for someone to come rescue us, to punish my mortal dad and my older brother, to help my mom stand up for us. I prayed for it, even though I didn’t know who I was really praying to, and nothing ever happened. So I ran away from home when I was six. I left my brother and my sister, because somehow I knew that they wouldn’t be able to come wherever I was going to end up, and I ran away.

“Things were better, at camp. I had answers, and Garrett was the real big brother I had never gotten to have. He looked out for me, even before he was in charge of the cabin. But I’d found out that my real dad was a god, the god of war, and he couldn’t fight for me, couldn’t stand up for me. He _wouldn’t._ I asked him about it one time, and you know what he did? He laughed and said _I don’t fight my kids’ battles for them_. Like helping a seven-year-old kid against his abusive mortal father while he’s just trying to keep himself and his younger siblings safe would somehow make me soft.

“So I promised myself then and there that I wouldn’t ever ask for his help again, or for anyone to help me deal with him.”

Fitz is pretty sure he’s never heard Ward say that much at one time before, and he waits a minute to make sure he’s finished before he says anything.

“And then I charged in without knowing what I was talking about.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody talk to Dad like that and not have him at least threaten to turn them into something unpleasant.” He sighs. “I just- the kids in my cabin don’t deserve everyone just assuming they’re going to leave camp. Most of them are good kids, and Ares coming down here to yell at us doesn’t help anything.”

“Maybe nothing will happen,” Fitz says, and Ward looks at him in disbelief, “Maybe we’ll track down Garrett and the others before they can help Hyperion escape, and nothing big will end up happening.”

“When in the history of Greek heroes has ‘nothing big’ ever happened?”

“First time for everything?” That gets a laugh from Ward, even if it’s small, and Fitz grins.

“Where are the others?”

“Jemma’s still sparring with May and Apollo’s working on their chariot, so I assume that’s where Trip is. I don’t know where Skye is, since she hasn’t really talked to me in a couple days.”

“She’s in her cabin. She’s actually the one that told me I should come talk to you. Got tired of not talking to the three of you, I think, although she said that it was just that she was bored with only playing ping pong against me, especially since I was ‘grumpy,’ in her words.”

“Maybe we could go find them and see if we can remind her how much she hates losing to Trip?” Ward laughs and Fitz is pretty sure it’s the first time he’s done so in a month.

“Before we can do that, we’ve got to work to work on your form going up the wall. It’s awful, Fitz. Plus, I believe you owe me a sparring session.” Fitz groans, but follows Ward down the ladder at the back of the climbing wall.

————

A lot of campers had been surprised when Chiron had announced that the annual chariot races would still be taking place, but he had made it clear that he wanted to try to keep things in camp as normal as possible despite everything going on, at least for a while. So the cabins had gotten to work on their building their chariots and forming alliances; Athena and Hephaestus had teamed up almost immediately, and with two days to go until the races, Fitz and Jemma were at the forge late, working on the mechanical horses that would pull their chariot.

Fitz is up in the guts of one of them, making adjustments to  the mechanisms that turn the front legs, when he hears Jemma speak.

“Hello, Donnie. Did you come to help with the chariot?”

“I actually, um, just came to grab some tools. I’ve got a project back in the cabin I’m working on, forgot to get them while I was up here earlier. Think anybody will mind if I borrow them as long as I have them back by tomorrow?”

Jemma shakes her head, “The rest of the cabins headed toward the bonfire, so they’re probably done working for the evening, and we’ve got all the stuff we need.”

“Plus, everybody else does it,” Fitz inserts, “As long as you don’t break them or lose them, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Fitz. You guys drew chariot duty for the night?”

“We volunteered,” Jemma says, and Fitz nods as he stands back up into the belly of the horse.

Earlier, Jemma had been standing up with him, making observations on how the mechanics could be changed to more closely resemble an actual flesh and blood horse, but when he’d started to light his hands and arms to heat the metal enough to bend it the way he needed it too, it had gotten too hot for her. He had barely noticed, of course, but now he ducks down to sit with her every few minutes and discuss ideas for a while so the metal can cool down.

The Hephaestus cabin had done most of the design work on the horses and the chariot, letting the Athena kids worry about the weaponry, but Jemma had been as involved as anyone. Between her biological research and Fitz’s engineering, they’d been able to take the blueprints that Hephaestus siblings had been passing down for years and maximize the efficiency of the horses and improve their connection with the chariot. Plus, the experiments they’d done with Greek fire during the school year meant that they could replace the collection of glass jars they normally used with what were basically two flamethrowers spurting green flame off the back of the chariot. Anne will drive and one of the Athena kids, probably Nate, will run the weapons.

Jemma tugs on his jeans and he bends down to see that Donnie is still standing in the entrance to the forge, shifting his weight from foot to foot, the tools he’d just gathered up clanking in his backpack.

“Sorry, Donnie. Did you need something we’ve got? There should be at least doubles of everything, if not more.”

“No, I’ve got all the stuff I need. I just wanted to say thanks for everything the past few months, since I got to camp. Chiron said you’d be a good big brother, and he was right.”

Fitz ducks his head, wishing he could blame the blush on his cheeks on the heat of the metal over his head.

“You’re welcome. That’s what family’s for, you know?”

Donnie nods, although his smile looks forced, “Yeah. I just- I couldn’t remember if I had ever said thanks, and I wanted to. I should get back to the cabin if I want to get any work done before everyone gets back from the bonfire and wants to go to sleep. Thanks again, Fitz. Jemma,” he says, nodding to each of them, and Fitz watches him retreat down the torchlit path before returning to his work on the bronze horses.

They work until nearly midnight, Fitz fashioning extra torches from spare bits of metal and rags to give them enough light to see by. Eventually though, both of them are having trouble keeping their eyes open for long enough stretches to actually get any work done, and they retire to their cabins for the night, Fitz making sure Jemma gets to hers without getting in trouble with the harpies. He has a feeling that they would ignore her in the same way they do him, but he’s never actually gotten to test that theory and doesn’t want to try it tonight. Plus, worrying about her being punished for breaking curfew is only part of the reason he likes to walk her home.

He’s sure that Jemma  gets up at whatever ridiculous hour she normally does, but Fitz uses the work he’d done on the chariot the previous night and the three or four nights before that as an excuse to sleep in. The cabin is deserted by the time he rolls out of bed, so he gets dressed and heads toward the forge, since it’s late enough that he’s missed breakfast. It’s Saturday and he won’t be the only one exchanging a meal for a few extra hours of sleep, so he doesn’t think anything of it beyond the fact that he’s hungry and looking forward to lunch.

Bailey is elbow deep in one of the horses when he gets there, and Nate is up in the chariot, getting a feel for the weapons. As he settles down next to the bronze animal Bailey isn’t working on, he notices absently that the tools Donnie borrowed last night are still missing, then pops open the panel on the horse’s stomach to gain access to the mechanisms inside.

He’s been working for maybe five minutes when the sound of multiple sets of running feet approaching the forge attract his attention, and he looks up in time to see Jemma, May and Anne arrive in the entrance. Anne and May look as worried as he’s ever seen them, and the second Jemma spots him, she rushes towards him, throwing her arms around his shoulders as soon as she reaches where he’s kneeling next to the chariot. The force with which she collides with him causes him to lose his balance, and he has to catch himself with one hand, wrapping the other arm around her waist.

“I told them you wouldn’t leave. I _told_ them. But then we couldn’t find you and I thought maybe something had happened and I told them you wouldn’t have left,” she says, her arms almost painfully tight around him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, but Jemma has pressed her face in against his shoulder and he turns to May and Anne.

“You weren’t at breakfast, and we couldn’t find you anywhere else.”

“I slept in, because we were up so late last night working on the chariot. You guys were worried about me because I missed one meal? I know everybody jokes that I’m always hungry, but it’s not exactly the first meal I’ve ever skipped,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat in the face of their expressions.

“Two more kids have disappeared. We think they left last night, and when we couldn’t find you, we panicked.”

“Who left?”

“Seth Dormer, from Aphrodite,” Anne says, then sighs, and somehow Fitz knows what she’s going to say before she speaks. Jemma’s arms manage to wrap even tighter around him, and he returns the embrace.

“And Donnie. Donnie’s gone.”

————-

There’s a list posted on the door of the Big House, with the names of the twenty-four kids who have left camp printed neatly down it. Three days after Donnie and Seth disappeared, two Apollo girls and a Hermes boy were gone as well, making it pretty clear that no cabin could be sure in feeling immune to it.

For two days, Donnie’s empty bed had haunted the Hephaestus cabin, until by silent agreement the five remaining campers had started to pile whatever extra stuff they had on it, including the cabin flag they’d managed to hold onto through the three games of Capture the Flag the camp had held before Victoria Hand’s death. It’s a fairly hollow gesture and doesn’t really fill up the space left by their missing sibling, but even just the act of doing it together as a cabin seems to help. Fitz wonders how Mason, now the only Aphrodite boy left in camp, and the rest of his cabin are coping, if it’s any easier because they’ve gone through it six times over now. He suspects it isn’t.

Chiron had pushed the chariot races back when Seth and Donnie had left, and again when the next three had followed, but he refuses to cancel them, so Anne, Nate, Jemma and Fitz are at the forge, figuring out any last minute adjustments and making sure their chariot runs smoothly for the next day. The Hephaestus campers have shifted the tools around to cover the blank spaces left by the ones Donnie had apparently decided to take with him when he left camp.

After almost two hours of adjustments, Anne declares the chariot ready, and she and Nate climb aboard to take it down to the track painted around the outside edge of the arena for final tests. Jemma and Fitz follow at a slower pace, admiring the way the metal horses move across the grass. At the entrance to the arena, Fitz is distracted by the sight of a lone figure sitting near the creek where it ends as it comes towards the camp buildings.

“Callie Hannigan,” Jemma whispers, nodding in that direction, and Fitz looks toward where their cabin leaders are lining the chariot up properly with the starting line.

“Can you guys handle that for a while? I’m just going to- I’ll be right back,” he says, and Jemma nods again as he heads toward the creek.

Callie looks up when he sits next to her, and he doesn’t know why he thought she would be crying, but she’s not. For the past week and a half, he knows she’s been getting crap of all sorts from a few campers, between being a member of the cabin with the most defectors and Donnie and Seth’s closest friend. Even her remaining siblings had pulled away from her somewhat after the two boys had disappeared, despite Ward’s best efforts.

They don’t talk for a few long minutes, and in the quiet of camp in the late evening, Fitz can hear the rattle of the chariot’s wheels and the _whoosh_ sounds of the flamethrowers spouting their Greek fire, mixing with the soft sounds of chatter coming from the direction of the cabins and the amphitheater. He waits for Callie to say something first, which she eventually does, staring down at the water of the creek.

“He was always going to go with Seth, you know? There was nothing any of us could have done to talk him out of that one. And Seth has been mad at his mom for months even before he even knew who she was. His brothers kept telling him that there was nothing to be ashamed of, that they had all gone through the same thing, but it turns out that they all wanted the same chance to exact some revenge on Aphrodite. Except for Mason, I suppose.”

“Donnie didn’t want revenge?” Fitz asks, trying not to let his voice reveal how betrayed he’d been when Anne had told him.

“Donnie wanted what Seth wanted. And, I don’t know, he’s kind of a tenderheart, and it always bugged him that it took such a long time for other people to get claimed, people that he thought so highly of. Seth, and you. In the end, it was Seth,” she says with a sigh, then repeats, “It was Seth.”

Another silence. Fitz thinks maybe she’s done talking, or at least done talking to him, and is just about to say that he should probably get back to the arena when she speaks again.

“They asked me to go with them, right before they left. Like I was just going to pick up and run away with them.”

“You weren’t tempted?”

Callie’s eyes flash as she looks at him for the first time.

“I’ve picked my side.”

It sounds so simple when she says it like that, and Fitz isn’t sure how to respond. She doesn’t say anything else, and after a few minutes he pushes himself up from the ground, offering Callie a hand that she takes.

“You should probably get back to your cabin soon. Extra chores during the chariot races don’t sound like fun.”

She nods and sets off toward the cabins with a small wave, and Fitz heads back toward the arena with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, turning what she had said over in his head. _Choosing sides_. Like they were dividing up for Capture the Flag, and he thinks about the Hephaestus flag, posted on Donnie’s bed in an attempt to chase away the empty space.

_Choosing sides._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, did I get ridiculous writer’s block on this chapter. All I could get myself to write was scenes from the end of this fic and another long one I’m working, which doesn’t really help in writing this specific chapter. But it’s here now.
> 
> I tried to work Ward’s back story in as best I could with him having a god for a dad, and it was also planned before we got any of the stuff we learned in season 2. I hope it’s all right.
> 
> Next chapter, the last bit of summer and then Fitz’s sixteenth birthday, which is a big deal for anyone and a particularly big deal when you’re the subject of a prophecy that might result in the end of the world.


	13. part 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Working on your birthday, gearhead? That’s just sad,” Trip says, and Fitz looks up to see him walking up the beach towards him.
> 
> “It’s not actually my birthday, sunshine. I don’t know what’s so confusing about that for all of you.”
> 
> “Yeah, yeah. We’re having your party tonight, so it counts. Who in Hades complains about getting two days of birthday?”
> 
> Nobody is talking about why they’re celebrating a day early, but with the prophecy and a hero’s sixteenth birthday dawns hanging over everything, they don’t really need to be all that specific. They’ll probably celebrate again tomorrow if nothing catastrophic happens, especially since Trip and Skye are always looking for reasons to have bonfires down on the beach.

By the last week of summer, the list of names on the Big House’s door has reached twenty-nine. To make things worse, multiple satyrs have returned to camp with news that potential demigods they had been watching had disappeared without a trace. More than twice as many kids than last year are planning on staying at least part of the school year at Camp Half-Blood, and Chiron is setting up a fairly elaborate Iris messaging system, insisting that those going home stay in touch with camp and with each other.

The cabin leaders have been spending more time at the Big House than anywhere else over the past few weeks, so Fitz is surprised when Anne shows up at the forge in the early afternoon. He and Jemma are updating the Hephaestus chariot blueprints with their modifications. When they’d finally been able to hold the races, the combined Athena and Hephaestus effort had won handily; the Hephaestus campers had spent the next three days mounting one of the metal horses onto the roof of their cabin and helping the Athena kids put the other up on theirs. Chiron hadn’t stopped them, probably because he was grateful that no one had been too badly hurt during the races, and the Hermes kids had left them alone, probably because of all the booby traps.

“Hey, guys,” she says, smiling even though Fitz can see how exhausted she looks, “Jemma, you mind if I talk to Fitz alone for a couple minutes?”

“Of course not. Nate said he needed to see me about something today, anyway. I’ll see if I can track him down.”

“What does he need to talk to you about?” asks Fitz, his brow furrowing, and Jemma shrugs, standing.

“It’s good news, I know that much,” Anne inserts, which makes the younger girl smile. She waves goodbye as Anne sits down, tilting her head back to rest against the wall with her eyes closed. Fitz carefully rolls the blueprints up and returns them to the bronze tube that Hephaestus cabin has been keeping them in for decades.

“Tired?” he asks, and his sister manages a soft laugh, not bothering to open her eyes.

“It’s not good that I can’t remember the last time I got a decent amount of sleep, right?” Fitz doesn’t bother answering, and she sits up, shaking herself a little with a sigh. “I’m not coming back to camp next year.”

That seems like a pretty big bombshell to drop out of nowhere like it’s nothing, and Fitz turns to her with wide eyes. He knew that she was eighteen and that eighteen was when a lot of kids spent their last summer at Camp Half-Blood, but he hadn’t really connected the two facts in his head. Besides Anne, the two older kids he spends the most time around are May and Coulson, and neither of them appeared to have any plans to leave any time soon.

“Camp will always be home, you know, but it can’t be the only place I ever call home. I’m not like May and Coulson. This place means a lot to me, but I think it’s time to move on. There’s an organization, goes back to Peggy Carter, that helps demigods out once they leave camp. Ares kid that left a few years before you got here, Nick Fury, runs it now. Some kids use it as a stepping stone to get their feet under them and some stay for good. Anyway, Fury offered me a job that means I’ll have time to go to college and hopefully some back-up if monsters try to eat me.”

“I know it probably feels like I’m bailing, but this can’t be my whole life, not like it is for some people. Having a god for a dad, fighting monsters, it being considered something of a miracle that I’ve made it this far. I can’t be defined by only that forever. And if you ever need me, I’ll be back in a heartbeat. But I can’t spend all my heartbeats here.”

“I guess I’d just never thought about you leaving.”

“I really am a timeless piece of camp, I know that. But my leaving means that somebody has to replace me as head camper for Hephaestus. You, in fact.”

If he thought the news of her leaving was a huge surprise, Fitz isn’t exactly sure what to classify this as.

“M-Me?”

“You,” Anne says, in the same tone of voice she would use if she were telling him they’ve got a training session before dinner tonight or which swords in the armory need work. “The kids got together last night and voted, while you were out sleeping in the strawberry field. That was actually kind of convenient, then, although you’ll probably have to do at least a little less of it now that you’re running the place.”

“But, why me? Why not Bailey, or–”

“Bailey’s the one who nominated you in the first place, and you were the only candidate. Come on, Fitz, is it really that hard for you to see that you’ve become a leader in Hephaestus, and for a lot of other kids in camp? You’re the oldest kid in the cabin, now, and you look after the kids, even if you don’t notice yourself doing it. Plus, I think they decided that if the Fates think you can beat a Titan and save the world, they can at least trust you to help them defend the Capture the Flag title.”

Fitz sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck, and Anne laughs.

“Come on, Fitz, we can’t all be Grant Ward. You think I was ready a few years ago when Charlie dumped it on me? You do your best, you look after your kids, you try to give good advice at council.”

“That easy, huh?”

“No. But I think you’ll do alright. Plus, you’re not the only one getting promoted today. You can help each other figure it out.”

It takes Fitz a few seconds to figure out what she’s saying, and he can’t help his smile.

“That’s what Nate needed to tell her?”

“Yeah. You can go congratulate her if you want. Lunch is starting, so she’s probably down at the pavilion. Not that you need me to help you find your other half,” she says, and Fitz blushes.

“Do I need to sit at the table now?”

Anne laughs. “Sometimes, probably. I don’t think the others would mind too much if you kept up old habits though. Means they can sit wherever they want if the mood strikes them. Now, stop worrying so much, and go congratulate Jemma.”

He heads toward the dining pavilion, but Jemma finds him first, running up from the direction of the cabins. Before Fitz can say anything, she hugs him without slowing down, forcing him to wrap his arms around her and spin to keep his balance.

“You’ll never believe what Nate needed to tell me,” she says, face pressed against his shoulder, and he can feel her smiling.

“I’ll bet you a drachma you’re wrong.”

It takes her a few seconds to react, pulling away from him to look at his face, and then her smile grows.

“That’s what Anne needed to talk to you about?”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Anne needed to talk to me just so that you could go talk to Nate and she could tell me your good news.”

Jemma returns the eye roll. “I mean– You, too?”

His smile must give him away, because she hugs him again instead of waiting for an actual answer, and he hugs her back, turning to press his face against her hair. He knows how much it must mean to her that her siblings had chosen her, especially after how wary they had been about her when she’d first been claimed. Fitz wishes he’d seen her face in the moment Nate had told her.

“Oh, no, not you two also,” Skye says, and Fitz pulls away from Jemma to see her walking up from the arena, Ward and Trip trailing after her.

“Also?” Jemma asks, and Skye tilts her head back in Trip’s direction.

“The new head of Apollo cabin.”

“Congratulations, Trip,” Fitz says, and Trip responds with a grin. Skye groans.

“Sure, congratulations all around, but what am I supposed to do while you guys are making incredibly important decisions for the camp?”

“Hang out with your other friends?”

“She doesn’t have any other friends,” Fitz says, and is promptly punched in the arm by Skye for his trouble.

“Come on, let’s go to lunch before Skye hurts Fitz,” Ward says, “Maybe she can make some new friends there.”

Ward gets punched too.

————-

The end of summer bonfire is a pretty somber affair this year, and the bead the head campers decide on is black with a silver arrow. Akela is at the ceremony where they’re passed out, although she doesn’t say anything and stays at the back of the crowd. She nods at Fitz when they make eye contact, which is sort of comforting, but disappears before he gets a chance to talk to her.

The next day, Fitz helps his siblings move their stuff out to the van for Argus to take them into New York City. He and Anne are the only ones left when Chiron gives the fifteen minute warning for the last trip of the day. Anne sighs, tossing a last few things into the trash and gathering up her bags.

“Well, I suppose this is it. You can move your stuff up here once I’m out the door,” she says, nodding down at the bed, “It’s your right as the cabin head. Keep in touch with everybody, keep an eye on them if they come back. I’m only an Iris call away if something happens, or if you just need to talk.”

Fitz nods. “Good luck. With your job, and college, and everything.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you, too. I’ve got a feeling you might need it more.”

“Need help with your bags?” he asks as she picks them up, but she shakes her head.

Anne stops in the doorway, one hand drifting across the seven beads of her necklace, and let’s out a long breath.

“Do good, Fitz,” she says with a small smile, and then disappears out of the cabin.

—————

Chiron had given him the day off from taking a shift watching for incoming Iris messages, but he was down on the beach anyway, since Jemma had the last shift of the day before the sun went down. She’s reading, glancing up every once and a while to check that the spray system is still working, and Fitz is stretched out next to her, trying not to doze off in the August heat. That problem is solved when Skye comes running down towards them, calling for Jemma.

“Is someone dying?” Fitz asks, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up.

“No, I just need to talk to Jemma about something important.”

“What?” he asks, and Jemma pokes him, probably for being rude.

“Girl stuff, Fitz, gods,” Skye answers, clearly hoping that will be the end of it, but he just raises his eyebrows, “Ward and I kissed, and I need to talk to Jemma about it, okay? Unless you want to give me some advice?”

Fitz blushes, “No.”

“Good. C’mon, Jemma.”

“I’ve still got an hour left on my shift,” Jemma says, and Skye turns to Fitz, who rolls his eyes but smiles.

“I’ll watch it.”

“I don’t want to make you work on your birthday.”

He rolls his eyes again, “It’s not even really my birthday. It’s fine.”

Jemma hesitates for a minute until Skye starts tugging on her sleeve, then gives in with a sigh.

“All right. We’ll be back down for your bonfire in a bit.”

Jemma and Skye head up towards the cabins, and Fitz settles down to keep an eye on the mist. He wishes he’d brought something to work on or fiddle with along like he usually does, but it’s only a few minutes before a familiar face appears in the water in front of him.

“Chip, is everything alright? Are you okay?”

Chip is the youngest of the Hephaestus kids, almost five years younger than Fitz, and they’d all been nervous about letting him go home at the end of the summer with everything that was going on.

“I’m okay. It’s just- do you think maybe I could come back to camp? There’s been a lot of monsters around, and I know they usually leave mortals alone, but my mom’s here and I don’t– I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

“Hey, I get it, don’t worry about it. Of course you can come back. Do we need to come get you, or–?”

“My mom and I can get to NYC, if Argus can pick me up there. Has anybody else come back?”

“Bailey came back a few weeks ago. I’ll talk to Chiron, and you let us know when you need Argus, or if anything else happens. Somebody’ll be watching the Iris messages.”

Chip thanks him and disappears from the mist, and Fitz relaxes back into the grass with a sigh. Last summer, he’d liked having the cabin to himself just fine, especially since Jemma was usually there with him, but after the last summer and all the disappearances, particularly Donnie’s, it’s nice to have his siblings around.

“Working on your birthday, gearhead? That’s just sad,” Trip says, and Fitz looks up to see him walking up the beach towards him.

“It’s not actually my birthday, sunshine. I don’t know what’s so confusing about that for all of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re having your party tonight, so it counts. Who in Hades complains about getting two days of birthday?”

Nobody is talking about why they’re celebrating a day early, but with the prophecy and _a hero’s sixteenth birthday dawns_ hanging over everything, they don’t really need to be all that specific. They’ll probably celebrate again tomorrow if nothing catastrophic happens, especially since Trip and Skye are always looking for reasons to have bonfires down on the beach.

“It’s Jemma’s shift, but Ward kissed Skye and apparently she needed to, uh, talk to Jemma about it, or whatever.”

“Ah, so that’s why Skye was running around squeaking earlier when I was giving Fred the money to go get the pizza.”

“She was squeaking?” Fitz asks, and Trip smiles.

“Nah, that’s not really her style. She was pretty excited, though. Not really that surprising, since they’ve liked each other forever.”

Fitz laughs, lying back on the grass, figuring that he’ll hear anyone messaging camp, and Trip’s here, besides.

“You made one of your siblings go get the pizza?”

“There are some advantages to being cabin head,” Trip says, laughing, “Plus, Freddy volunteered, and Argus and Mike are with him. He’ll be ok, he’s a sharp kid and it’s just a pizza run. Now, let’s get the bonfire going, see if we can draw some company down here to celebrate.”

Jemma and Skye come back down while Fitz and Trip are dragging driftwood over, with Ward in tow. Skye has both hands wrapped around one of Ward’s arms, and they keep smiling at each other shyly. Trip makes gagging noises several times, but he’s grinning when he does it and Skye just sticks her tongue out at him while Ward blushes. People start to drift down, and they respond with cheers when Fred and Mike arrive with the pizza, and again when Fitz, indulging in a little showmanship, lights the bonfire with a flick of his hand.

It’s a good celebration, bigger than last year with more kids in camp for the year. Once the pizza has been exhausted, someone runs up to the dining pavilion and grabs s’more stuff. After a few hours, the party starts to break up, the campers who know why they’re celebrating wishing Fitz happy birthday as they leave; Jemma pokes him in the ribs every time he opens his mouth to tell people it’s not actually his birthday. May and Coulson are among the last to leave.

“Happy birthday, Fitz,” May says, and surprises him by leaning over and pressing a kiss against the top of his head. She does the same to Jemma, and then walks back up towards the cabin, holding hands with Coulson.

It’s good to see them happy, since both of them have clearly been putting a lot of pressure on themselves lately as the camp leaders. Fitz can’t be sure, but he’s also pretty sure that May is blaming herself for whatever might be ahead for him and Jemma because of the prophecy, for reasons he doesn’t understand.

Trip stands up a few minutes later, and Ward and Skye follow suit, Ward’s arm around her shoulders.

“I better check in with my siblings and get to bed. Left your tea in your cabin, so happy birthday, gearhead,” Trip says, then tugs on Fitz’s sleeve enough so he can bend down and press a quick kiss against Fitz’s temple, which he’s gotten into the habit of doing, “I’ll say it to you again tomorrow too, for good measure. Maybe I’ll try to track down some more tea to celebrate the occasion.”

Fitz takes a weak swipe at his legs in retaliation, mumbling, “Shut up, sunshine,” and Trip dances out of the way, laughing.

“I should probably go check on my cabin, too. I’ll, um, meet you in front of Aphrodite in a couple minutes?” Ward asks, and Skye pushes up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek as she nods. They grin at each other for a few moments, until Trip tugs on Ward’s arm with a roll of his eyes and the two older boys disappear up the path back towards camp.

“Try not to worry too much about tomorrow,” Skye says. “Who knows, maybe something good will happen.”

“You kiss Ward and decide it’s a good sign of things to come?” Fitz asks, teasing, but Skye shrugs.

“It has to be a sign of something,” she says, then leans over to kiss his cheek with a smile.

Fitz and Jemma sit down by the dying bonfire for a while, until she starts to drift off against his shoulder and he nudges her awake, tilting his head up towards the strawberry fields. She nods sleepily, and they trudge up to the fields in silence. Jemma speaks once they finally settle down, curled up among the plants.

“It’s nice, about Ward and Skye.”

“Yeah,” Fitz says, glancing at her walking beside him.

He wonders if he should tell her, about the strange warm feeling that fills up his chest sometimes when he’s around her. If Ward can kiss Skye, then surely he can tell Jemma about that. Except he’s not sure exactly what he would tell her, except the idea that’s been niggling at the back of his head for a while.

But she’s his best friend, and whenever things come crashing down, tomorrow or next week or whenever it happens, he’s going to need her. Jemma has been beside him the whole time, long before prophecies and gods and camp, when they were just two kids hiding from monsters and trying to figure out why they could see them in the first place.

“Hey,” Jemma says, poking him in the stomach, and Fitz realizes she’s been trying to get his attention for a while. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, just below his watch, turning it gently so they can see the face. “Midnight. Happy birthday, Fitz.”

“You wanted to be the first to say it? For real, at least.”

“Always,” she says, “You should try to get some sleep. We don’t know what may or may not happen tomorrow.”

“I know. Who knows, maybe some other kid will wake up to have a bomb dropped on his life.”

“You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay,” Jemma yawns, “I’m going to sleep now. Promise you’ll do the same soon?”

Fitz nods, and she curls into his side. He stares up at the stars for a little bit before he finally drifts off.

—————

Someone kicks at Fitz’s feet a couple times, and he blinks himself awake, ready to complain to May about waking him up at such a ridiculous hour for a training session on his birthday, but instead it’s Ward, spear in hand and backpack slung over one shoulder.

“What in Hades?” he asks, forcing himself to sit up, and Ward smiles.

“It’s a nice morning, and I thought I’d go out to the woods and ruin it for a few monsters. You want to come along? It’d be good training.”

“It’s ridiculously early.” The sun is just barely up in the east.

“It’s a perfectly acceptable hour of the morning. Plus, you’re already dressed and everything,” Ward says, nodding at Fitz’s jeans and camp t-shirt. “How do you sleep like that anyway?”

Fitz shrugs. “I can sleep in anything.”

“And anywhere, apparently,” he says, looking out over the strawberry fields. Fitz just shrugs again as he stands. Him sleeping in the strawberry fields isn’t anything new by a long shot.

He glances down at Jemma, who has curled up into the warm spot on the ground he’d just vacated.

“Should I wake her up, tell her where I’m going? I don’t want her to worry.”

“I told Skye where we were going, and I think Jemma told Skye to come wake her up last night, so she’ll probably let her know,” Ward says, then tugs on the strap of his backpack, “Come on, I’ve got Coke and Oreos.”

“Real Oreos?”

“Yeah, grabbed them when I went to New York with May and Jemma last week.” Fitz holds his hand out in expectation but Ward shakes his head. “No Oreos for breakfast. At least not until we’ve killed a couple of monsters.”

Fitz grumbles as he straps on his sword, but follows Ward as he heads towards the woods. They don’t talk much at first, since it’s not really Ward’s thing, but eventually trooping through the forest in silence gets to be too much for Fitz.

“So, you and Skye, huh?”

Ward blushes. “Yeah.”

“That must be nice.”

“It’s new.”

“How’d it–? Skye said some stuff, but, um, she mostly wanted to talk to Jemma, so-”

“She kissed me,” Ward shrugs. “I kissed her back. Pretty simple. Why?”

“No reason,” Fitz says, trying to hide his own blush, but Ward’s smiling now.

“Looking for some advice?”

“N-No, I just–”

“Just tell Jemma how you feel. That’s my advice.”

“How–?” Fitz starts, but Ward rolls his eyes.

“I’ve got eyes, Fitz,” he says, and takes off through the trees again before Fitz can reply. He decides it’s probably best just to keep his mouth shut after that.

They keep walking, but without meeting any monsters, and Fitz realizes after about twenty minutes that they haven’t actually strayed that far into the forest, although they have to be getting close to the border of camp. He calls Ward’s name a couple times, but the older boy doesn’t respond and he jogs to catch up.

“We haven’t ruined the morning for anything yet. Maybe we should cut into the forest more?”

“Not yet,” Ward says, and Fitz recognizes his tone from Capture the Flag games and sparring matches; it’s colder, sharper than his usual voice, a sure sign that he’s locked into the coming fight. His hand drops to the hilt of his sword in reaction, ready for whatever Ward seems to think is about to jump out at them, but he can see the clearing up ahead, the small break in the trees that signals the edge of camp.

“We’re almost at the border,” he says, and Ward finally stops walking, his shoulders falling as he sighs.

“I’m sorry, Fitz.”

“What for? We can just turn back towards camp.”

“No, we can’t,” Ward says, taking a couple steps so that he’s right at the border and then turning back towards Fitz, unable to actually look at him, jaw set. “I’m sorry.”

Maybe it takes longer than it should for it to click, for him to understand what’s happening, but it’s such a preposterous thing, such a ludicrous idea, that if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes he never would have believed it at all.

“No. No, you wouldn’t have– You wouldn’t have stayed, not this long, not if you were– No.”

“I was ordered to stay. They wanted someone to keep an eye on you. Someone who’d gotten close to you.”

“Ordered by who? Garrett? Hyperion?”

“Garrett’s my brother.”

“I’m your friend!” Fitz shouts, then deflates. “Or was that an order too?” Ward’s face is an expressionless mask, and he still won’t look at Fitz. “Oh, gods.”

“Garrett knew about the prophecy, and once he knew about your powers, he wanted someone to keep an eye on you,” he says, and Fitz thinks back to those first days after his pyrokinesis had been revealed to the rest of camp.

“You talked to Skye for the first time the day after the bonfire. And all those questions about my powers. Were you just using us? Was that all we were to you? A mission?”

“No,” says Ward, the mask dropping for a second as his hands tighten around his spear.

“Then why?”

“You’ve met my father. And what have the gods ever done for you, Fitz? Hestia says something nice to you every few weeks? How long did it take your dad to claim you, and that was only after he knew you would be of use to him? You really think that’s worth dying for?”

Fitz wants to say something about camp and their friends, to defend Hestia, to ask Ward exactly what Hyperion and Garrett are promising that is so enticing, but he’s struck dumb by the bitterness in his voice. He knew Ward didn’t like his father, but he hadn’t known that it extended to the other Olympians. His face must give away his surprise, because Ward huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

“That’s your problem, Fitz. Once you trust somebody, you can’t imagine that they’d ever–” he shakes his head, and laughs again. “You know, they told me I should try to convince you to come with me. Said that it would take the gods and their allies out at the knees if you sided with us. Guess they really don’t know you as well as I do.”

He pulls the second strap of his backpack up to his shoulder and levels the point of his spear at Fitz, who takes one step back before he forces himself to stop. His hand drops to the hilt of his sword again.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and Ward’s voice is cold and sharp again when he answers.

“I’ve got orders to see that the prophecy ends today, and we both know you won’t come with me. There’s only one other way this ends.”

Fitz manages to fumble Pyrrhos out of his belt just in time to block Ward’s first attack, but it knocks him off balance so that he has to duck and roll to avoid the next jab. When he scrambles to his feet, he’s surprised to see that Ward is smirking at him.

“Come on, Fitz. Haven’t we sparred enough times that you know how this is going to end?” he says, and Fitz’s hands catch in anger before he’s even aware it’s happening. He pushes the flames up the blade of his sword and Ward’s smirk drops. Fitz never uses his flames when he’s sparring anyone but May, figuring that it’s an unfair advantage when they’re just practicing with their weapons, but current circumstances seem to call for it.

“Still feeling so confident?” he asks, although his voice shakes and the fire along Pyrrhos’ length flares, sparks flying. Ward winces, turning away with a sharp intake of breath. When he turns back, Fitz can see the shiny burn along his cheekbone. The flames at his arms climb towards his elbows, and he remembers one of the first conversations he’d ever had with Ward, when he’d asked if he could do a full body burn. He wonders if that will be necessary.

“What are you going to do, Fitz? You going to kill me?” Ward asks, with no fear in his voice, and Fitz can see the calculation in his eyes.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” he says, and then he lunges forward.

Months of training with May and the battlefield reactions that come from his immortal blood kick in before he can even think; he reaches out and grabs the spear with his left hand, twisting and then shoving it back. Ward, caught off guard, stumbles backwards, and Fitz watches in shock as the spear bends slightly, a smoking, dark handprint left along the metal shaft. He realizes for the first time just how hot the flames jumping off his body are, and Ward backs away towards the border, sweat pouring down his face.

They stand there in a silent stalemate for a few moments, the only sound the crackling of Fitz’s fire, and then Fitz becomes aware of several familiar voices yelling his name. Ward’s eyes widen, and he turns and takes off into the trees across the border. Fitz takes a step forward as though to follow him,  but the other boy is out of sight in moments, and instead he lets his flames die and takes a breath for what feels like the first time in hours. His chest is tight as he turns away from the border towards the sound of running footsteps.

Jemma reaches him first, looking worried and almost sick, and throws her arms around his neck in a tight hug despite the fact that he’s sure his skin is still extremely hot. May, Trip, Coulson and Skye arrive behind her, with Chiron bringing up the rear. Trip looks pissed, but it’s nothing compared to the murderous look on May’s face. Fitz is sure Coulson would look the same, but he’s got one arm around Skye, her face pressed against his shoulder, and Fitz can see she’s been crying.

He wraps his arms around Jemma, his head dropping down against her neck.

“Ward’s gone. He left.”

Fitz wants to say it loud enough for everyone to hear, but knows he doesn’t manage much volume. Jemma nods where she’s pressed her face against his hair. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he just keeps hugging her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter kicked my ass. And I wasn’t expecting it to kick my ass, which made the ass kicking worse. And it kicked my ass for about seven or eight hundred words longer than I was anticipating.
> 
> It was a triple ass kicking, you guys. Hopefully next chapter will be easier. (I’m also sort of working on two other AUs right now, so sometimes my muse just doesn’t want to work on this one. It’s a personal problem).
> 
> There were a lot of people who seemed to think that maybe Ward wasn’t going to betray Fitz and the others in this, and I guess I’d just like to apologize to those people for being bad at foreshadowing. If it’s any comfort, this whole story was planned before season 2, (spoilers) Ward does get a bit of a redemption arc in this. Things can’t really go back to the way they were, but he’s in a better place at the end of this story than he is in canon.
> 
> I hope that final confrontation between Ward and Fitz was in-character. I wrestled with it quite a bit and it went through about three entirely different versions before I finally settled.
> 
> The team probably seems more tactile than they are in canon, which comes a lot from the fact that here they start as friends, while in canon they’re co-workers first. I do, however, headcanon both Fitz and Trip as extremely tactile with everyone in all universes, especially with each other. So you’ll probably see more of that.
> 
> Next chapter, the aftermath of Ward’s betrayal and Garrett and Hyperion’s first move against Fitz and the camp.


	14. part 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is sitting on one of the beds in the infirmary, where Chiron had sent him after he’d explained what had happened with Ward. Mostly what he wants to do is go back to the Hephaestus cabin and sleep, but he hadn’t had the energy to protest, so now he’s just waiting.

Fitz is sitting on one of the beds in the infirmary, where Chiron had sent him after he’d explained what had happened with Ward. Mostly what he wants to do is go back to the Hephaestus cabin and sleep, but he hadn’t had the energy to protest, so now he’s just waiting. There are voices arguing on the other side of the door,  but Fitz isn’t listening closely enough to make out exactly what they’re saying. He looks up when somebody comes into the room.

“Thought you might want breakfast,” Trip says, handing over the plate he’d brought and dropping down next to Fitz on the bed. He steals a piece of toast with a sigh. “I know this is probably the understatement of the century, but I still feel like somebody needs to say it: this sucks.”

Fitz nods, poking at his food, “How’d you guys even know we were out there?”

“He left a letter for Skye, explaining or apologizing or whatever. I only know what she told me, but apparently he said sorry for ‘what happened with Fitz,’ and then when she went to check on Jemma and you weren’t there, she knew she had to find you fast. Couple wood nymphs saw you guys head into the forest, plus we knew he’d be headed for the border. And once we got close enough, we could see your whole Human Torch thing happening.”

“Thanks. For coming after me.”

“No problem, man. You need anything else?”

“I really just want to go back to my cabin and sleep.”

“Yeah, Jemma and May have been arguing that with Chiron for ten minutes now. He wants to keep an eye on you, but I think they’ll win sooner rather than later. If you’re good, I’m going to go check on Skye,” Trip says, and Fitz nods. May passes him in the doorway.

“Chiron says you can go back to your cabin, as long as you promise not to do anything foolish. His words, not mine,” she says, and Fitz stands with a sigh.

“I just want to go to sleep.”

“That’s what I told him. I brought you another shirt too.”

“Why?”

“That one is all full of holes now,” she says, and Fitz looks down at himself in surprise. There are indeed several holes in the shirt, fragile burnt edges ringing them. It’s been a long time since he lost enough control that he burned the clothes he was wearing.

Jemma is waiting for him out on the porch, and they walk down to the cabins in silence, although Fitz can feel her watching him, waiting for him to say something. He has no idea what she wants him to say, and there’s nothing that will make either of them feel any better, so he keeps his mouth shut. When they reach the Hephaestus cabin, Bailey is waiting on her bed, and she gets up and hugs him before anyone says anything, confirming that the rest of the camp already knows what happened. She leaves a couple minutes after that, and Fitz appreciates the empty cabin as he curls up on his bed. It’s the first time since he moved to the front of the cabin that he misses his old bed further back in the room.

“I’m going to go check on my siblings and on Skye, unless you need something,” Jemma says, and Fitz shakes his head, turning over to face the wall.

“I’m just going to sleep.”

Jemma waits a few minutes, but eventually, Fitz hears her leave, closing the door softly behind her. He expects to have trouble falling asleep, even with his insistence to everyone, but he really is tired, drifting off after just a few minutes. When he wakes up, Jemma is sitting on his bed, her legs bent up over his knees while she reads. He sits up so that his shoulder presses against hers.

“How are you?” she asks, and he shrugs.

“How’s Skye?”

“Angry. Sad. Upset with herself for being sad. Wondering if anything was real, back to the first day we all showed up at camp.”

“Does it make it better or worse if it wasn’t all a lie?”

_Were you just using us? Was that all we were to you? A mission?_

_No._

“I don’t know. I think we’re all going to have to figure that out for ourselves.”

“How about you?”

“Glad you’re alright. Glad he didn’t try to hurt anyone else. Angry that he tried to hurt you. Beyond that, I don’t know.” Jemma sighs and they sit in silence for a while before she speaks again, “War- The kids in Ares are pretty shaken up. To have this happen to them again.”

“Yeah,” Fitz says, tilting his head to rest against Jemma’s where she’s leaning against his shoulder, “What time is it?”

“Just past five. We should probably go to dinner. You didn’t eat much of what Trip brought you this morning and you slept through lunch, so I know you’re hungry. Plus… I think it would be good for the other campers. To see you.”

His first thought is, selfishly, _I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be this_. But he doesn’t say it out loud, can’t say it to Jemma, whose first thought upon hearing the prophecy was that this was their chance to be heroes, like in the stories she loved so much. He just follows her silently to the dining pavilion.

People do seem to be relieved to see him, which is nice, something in the air settling as he scrapes mashed potatoes into the fire for the gods. The Ares table is deserted, and Skye never shows up; their table feels empty with just Fitz, Jemma and Trip, and he’s glad when Mike sits down with them.

“Chiron says you guys have got siblings who want to come back to camp?” he asks, and Trip and Fitz both nod.

“Chip Iris messaged last night. He’s supposed to let us know when he gets to New York. Some time this week probably.”

“The twins live in NYC, so they can probably wait until Chip gets there,” Trip says, “They were going to have their mom bring them back, but I didn’t want them to risk it.  Especially since- I know monsters usually leave mortals alone, but not all our enemies out there are monsters anymore. Figured that it was safer to have them wait.”

“Good plan. Let me know when they’re ready, and Ace and I’ll go get them.”

Mike finishes his food quickly and departs with a wave, and Trip sets his fork down.

“Nothing is actually going to make me feel better, but I feel like setting stuff on fire down on the beach will provide the illusion for a while. You guys in?” he asks, and Jemma glances at Fitz, who shrugs.

Most of the things he wants to do involve hitting something with Pyrrhos or curling up on his bed, neither of which are going to make Jemma stop worrying about him. So he finishes his food and follows the other two down to the beach, staring out over the water as Trip lights the bonfire with a Zippo he’d grabbed from the Big House. Some other kids drift down from the dining pavilion and the cabins, and there are marshmallows, but none of the shouting or celebrating from last night; the other campers give Trip, Jemma and Fitz plenty of room, and Fitz still hasn’t seen any of the Ares kids or Skye since this morning.

Jemma, sitting next to him, drops a small box with a bow on it into his lap, and Fitz turns to her with eyebrows raised.

“I know you don’t really feel like celebrating, and I’m sorry this happened on your birthday, but I did promise that I’d get you a present this year,” she explains, as Fitz opens the box, “I got it when May and I went into New York the last time. Made her take me to the zoo so I could buy it.”

Fitz smiles for the first time all day when he sees the small monkey charm, obviously meant for his necklace.

“Now we match again, at least mostly,” she says, touching the owl pendant Fitz had made for her last year on her own necklace as he hangs his present on the leather string around his neck.

“Thanks, Jem,” he says, and then looks up to see Skye making her way toward them through the groups of campers on the other side of the fire. She sits next to him without saying anything, a folded piece of paper in her hand. It’s the four of them in a line now: Trip, Jemma, Fitz and Skye.

“So I really wanted to burn this,” she says after a few minutes of silence, holding up the letter so that Fitz can see Skye written on the front in handwriting he realizes must be Ward’s, “But I didn’t want to alarm any of my siblings by suddenly setting something on fire. And then I remembered that one of my best friends can light things on fire at will, and thought you might want to help.”

Fitz reaches up to take the letter, but Skye doesn’t loosen her hold.

“Could you- I was hoping you could burn it while I was holding it? That you could keep me from burning?”

He wants to refuse, since he’d come pretty close to losing control of his powers this morning and he still feels shaky, but the look on Skye’s face makes him pretty sure he’d do anything to make her feel better, so Fitz lets his hand catch and watches as the letter crumbles away. The flames lick at Skye’s fingers, but she doesn’t pull away and he concentrates on making sure she’s fine.

When the letter is gone, she nods, staring at the bonfire in front of them.

“Well, at least that’s done.”

———–

“They should have been back by now,” Trip says, anxiously scrubbing at his face with his hands, and Fitz glances at his watch.

“They were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“You two worry too much,” Jemma says, pausing to cheer when Skye’s team scores a point in the sand volleyball game they’re watching, “Mike and Ace know what they’re doing.”

“Ace is like twelve years old,” Fitz says, and Trip nods.

“Ace is twice as old as either of you,” Jemma says, rolling her eyes, but she reaches out to turn Fitz’s wrist enough to see his watch. A few days ago, her younger sister Donna had called about coming back to camp, and Mike and Ace were picking her up along with Chip and the Martinez twins.

The three of them are sitting at one of the picnic tables by the volleyball courts. About fifteen minutes after the satyrs had left, Skye had come and dragged them out of the Big House, insisting that sitting around waiting for hours was only going to drive them all nuts, including her. Not wanting to argue with her, they’d gone down and played sand volleyball for a while. Once Mike’s estimated return time had passed, they’d all become pretty useless to their teams and Skye had let them come sit down to wait for news.

“Maybe we should go looking for them. Argus is here, the camp has more than one van, right? Let’s get him to take us,” Trip says.

“Where? You want to search the entirety of New York City for them?” Jemma asks, and he shrugs.

“We can’t just sit here doing nothing.”

It takes them five minutes to track Argus down and a further ten minutes to convince Chiron to let them go.

“It might be a trap, to lure you out of camp,” the centaur says, his gaze settling on Fitz, but it’s Jemma who speaks up.

“Then Garrett is using our siblings as bait, and we need to go get them,” she says, and Chiron sighs.

“Be careful. Keep your heads up.”

Trip takes shotgun in the van, with Jemma and Fitz on the first bench seat, peering out opposite windows. Inside the camp’s magical borders it had been clear skies all day, but outside it’s raining, making it harder to see. They’ve been driving for fifteen minutes when Trip curses in Ancient Greek and then again in English, pointing out his window.

“That’s Miggy! Pull over, that’s Miggy!” he says, and Fitz sees Miguel Martinez along the side of the road, waving his arms over his head. Trip is out of the van as soon as it stops, running towards his younger brother.

“Miggy, where’s everybody else?” he asks, as Fitz, Jemma and Argus all rush to get out of the van, “What happened?”

“Hellhound knocked the van off the road. There were- some of the kids who have left camp were with it, like they’d summoned it. Sofia sprained her ankle, so she stayed behind to look after the others and sent me ahead for help. They’re a couple miles back.”

They pile back into the van and Argus takes off, Trip urging him to go faster as Jemma crawls into the back to retrieve the first aid kit. Miggy has long, thin scratches down his arms, and he winces as she cleans them off. Trip starts cursing again as the van slows down, not bothering to wait for a complete stop this time before jumping out of the van. Fitz spots what he had seen after a few seconds, and he and Jemma scramble out into the rain as well, Miggy following at a slower pace.

The camp’s other van is in the ditch alongside the road, pushed up against a stand of trees, the side towards the road significantly dented in like a car or something about that size had smashed into it with force. Trip rounds the vehicle carefully, hands raised.

“Sof, it’s Trip. I’ve got your brother and Fitzsimmons with me, so don’t shoot,” he says, and Fitz follows him just in time to see Sofia drop her bow with an obvious sigh of relief.

She’s obviously favoring her left leg as she limps forward to hug her twin and her older brother, but Fitz’s attention is immediately drawn to the group sheltering underneath the trees. Donna Ramsey, Jemma’s younger sister, is sitting with Ace’s head in her lap and Chip leaning against her side. Ace is unconscious and Donna has a clearly visible knot at one temple, but it’s Chip that causes him to come up short; the younger boy’s face is covered in blood and he sways slightly as he tries to sit up straighter.

“Fitzsimmons, you guys work on getting your siblings checked out and back to the car. Miggy, get your sister in the van and then come back and help me. I’m going to try to get Mike in good enough shape that we can move him,” Trip orders, and it pulls Fitz out of his shock enough that he notices Mike for the first time. The satyr still has his pan pipes in his right hand, but his left arm is a completely bloody mess, and he’s clearly fighting just to stay awake.

“Ace,” he gasps, shifting to try to see his little brother, “Is Ace okay? Everybody else?”

“Ace is unconscious, but I think he’s alright,” Jemma says, crouching down by Mike, “You’ve got to let Trip help you though.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, or make another attempt at moving towards Ace, but after a few seconds he sighs, relaxing back.

“Okay. Look after him, yeah?” he says, gasping as Trip starts to examine his arm.

Miggy comes back from helping Sofia to the van and assists Jemma in getting Donna on her feet before he picks up Ace while Fitz scoops up Chip. Up close, he can see that most of the blood is coming from a single long cut across his forehead, but it’s still terrifying to see his little brother like this. The kid is only eleven, and he curls in against Fitz’s chest as he steps out of the shelter of the trees into the rain. Once they’re all settled in the van, Fitz and Jemma go back to help Trip and Mike.

“This is- This doesn’t look very good, Mike,” Trip says, and Mike laughs, though it’s obviously strained.

“You’re saying that sticking my arm in the hellhound’s mouth was a bad idea?” he asks, pushing himself upright with his good arm, and continues at the shocked looks on their faces, “I had to buy the others enough time to get out of the van, give them a fighting chance at least.”

“You did good, Mikey, but you also lost a lot of blood and the bone seems like it’s in pretty bad shape. We’re going to get you back to camp, though, and have Chiron look at it. You’re going to be alright,” Trip says, and Mike nods, although for the first time since Fitz had met him a year and a half ago, he looks young and scared. It takes all three of them to pull him to his feet, and he sways as they help him to the van.

The ride back is silent except for the sound of the rain. Trip had put Mike in the passenger’s seat and is sitting on the back bench with the twins, with Jemma and Fitz sitting on the middle one with their siblings and Ace lying down on the front one, belted in twice for good measure, since he’s still unconscious. Jemma is working to keep both Donna and Chip awake because she’s worried about them having concussions.

Fitz relaxes as they cross the camp border, but they’re sitting close enough together on the crowded bench that he can feel the tension still present in Jemma’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning to whisper to her, not wanting to alarm their younger siblings.

“The rain didn’t stop,” she answers.

Argus drives the van all the way up to the front porch of the Big House, and Miggy helps Sofia, limping slightly, into the house to alert Chiron and anyone else there. Trip tries to help Mike out, but even barely conscious, he insists on Ace going first, and Trip grabs him with a huff. Jemma helps Donna out as Chiron rushes out of the house, May and Chiron behind him.

Fitz pulls Chip out of the van and moves as quickly as he can to get out of the rain and under the protection of the porch. Once there, he can hear that his brother is whispering his name and bends his head down close to be able to hear him.

“I’m here, Chip. We’re at camp, you’re going to be fine. It’s going to be okay,” he says, trying to remember everything he ever learned from Anne about being a good cabin leader, a good big brother.

“It was- It was kids from camp. Kids who left. Raina was there. And- And, Fitz, Ward was there. Ward was with them,” he says, his head resting against Fitz’s chest, and Fitz feels his stomach twist.

He puts Chip down on one of the beds in the infirmary and then stumbles out into the hallway, trying to catch his breath. His stomach is in knots and he’s actively trying not to be sick as several of the older Apollo kids rush past him into the infirmary.

_Ward_. Ward, who had still been in camp when Chip had called, who would have known that at least one kid would be on their way back to camp very soon, probably with a satyr or an older camper. He would have known because Fitz had told him. And Fitz hadn’t stopped him from leaving.

Trip bursts out of the infirmary, Mike’s blood on his shirt and Skye trailing after him. Fitz assumes he’s going in search of more supplies or back out to the van for something, until the older boy suddenly punches at the wall with a shout.

“Trip,” Skye says, reaching out for his shoulders, but he shrugs her off.

“They’re just kids! Migs and Sof are thirteen, and they were the oldest ones there!” he says, and then storms out of the house.

Fitz thinks that maybe Skye follows him, but he’s not really paying attention, Trip’s words echoing in his head. The twins are thirteen, and Donna and Chip are only eleven, and _they’re just kids_. There is no real reason for Garrett to want to attack them. _They’re just kids_. Ward wouldn’t have known about the Martinezes or Donna, only that Chip was coming back. Chip, Fitz’s little brother. _They’re just kids_.

“Oh gods,” he says, leaning back against the wall. He’s definitely going to be sick.

“Fitz? Fitz, what’s wrong?” Jemma is in front of him suddenly, and she reaches up to brush something off his cheek, “You’re crying.”

He hadn’t realized that.

“It’s my fault. They were coming after me. It’s my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ward knew about Chip. I didn’t stop him, and he knew about Chip but not the others, and they were coming after me. It’s my fault.”

“Fitz, no, of course it’s not. Please, just take a deep breath, please.”

“No, no, I can’t. I need- I need- I can’t,” he says, pushing away from the wall. Fitz thinks Jemma might say something, trying to get him to stop, but he’s out the door and off the porch into the rain in a few seconds.

He walks without any destination in mind, just needs to move, and it’s a few minutes before he realizes that he can see the rain but can’t feel it. His whole body is in flames, and for the first time that he can remember, he’s aware of just how hot he’s burning. Fitz drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

Someone lays a hand on his back, and he feels his shoulders relax even before he realizes that there’s only one person in camp who could possibly be touching him right now. Hestia smiles softly when he looks back at her.

“It’s going to be okay, Leopold. Breathe. Listen to her voice.”

“Whose voice?” he gasps, and Hestia’s smile grows slightly.

“Who else?” she says, and Fitz looks up to see Jemma standing ten feet in front of him, which is probably as close as she can bear to be right now. Even through the rain, he can see she’s crying and it’s that more than anything that makes him concentrate on taking deep breaths, forcing his temperature down.

Eventually, Fitz can feel the rain against his shoulders and Jemma drops to her knees in front of him, throwing her arms around him and pressing her face in against his neck. He returns the hug immediately, feeling her shiver slightly.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again, Leopold Fitz.”

“Sorry,” he says, tucking his head down against her shoulder and taking deep breaths.

They stay that way for a while, until Jemma starts to shiver in earnest and Fitz pulls her up to her feet. She keeps a hold of his hand as they walk towards the Big House, which makes his stomach flip in funny ways; he can’t decide if that’s worse or better than the hollow feeling that’s been there for the past week, since the morning of his birthday.

Fitz stays in the hallway while Jemma ducks into the infirmary, and Bailey braves the storm to bring him some dry clothes from the cabin, and to see Chip and the Martinez twins, who she’s close to. He ducks into one of the empty rooms next to the infirmary and changes, and when he reemerges, Jemma is sitting in the hallway, back to the wall and knees pulled up to her chest. He slides down next to her, and she drops her head to his shoulder as soon as he’s settled.

“Chip’s going to be fine. He’s got a concussion, and the cut on his forehead is probably going to scar, but nothing major beyond that. Donna and Ace both have concussions too, although Ace’s is worse. They were sitting on the side of the van the hellhound hit. Sofia sprained her ankle getting out of the van to help Mike with the hellhound.”

“How is he?”

“They’ve got him stabilized, but they’re worried he’s going to lose his arm. There’s a doctor coming, from the organization that Anne works for now. Apparently he specializes in making prosthetic limbs out of celestial bronze.”

“Chiron thinks the rain will pass in about an hour. There’s nothing magical about the storm, it’s just a powerful one. The borders can’t keep everything out.”

“This is just the start.”

“The storm?”

“The attack on the van. They thought I would be there, that I would have gone to pick up Chip. This was the start of Hyperion’s plan.”

Jemma reaches up, pulling his necklace, with the two beads, the new charm she’d gotten him for his birthday and the hellhound tooth that he’d gotten the first time they’d met, out of his collar. Fitz wonders if she can feel the way his pulse speeds up when her fingertips brush along his skin. For the past year or so, she’s been wearing her matching necklace so that it’s easily visible, but he’s never gotten out of the habit of tucking it out of sight.

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to be ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be back to write notes in a bit, but right now I’m going to get food.


End file.
